


Because of You

by HappyCatTaxi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Auror Harry Potter, Crime, Detectives, Drama, F/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Sexual Content, whodunit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 54,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyCatTaxi/pseuds/HappyCatTaxi
Summary: When Auror Potter gets a new case, he is shocked to realise he knows the victim. However, Hermione has no recollection of the accident she was in and cannot remember why she was running through Muggle London as if fleeing for her life.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 246
Kudos: 158
Collections: Prompt Bank Garage Sale





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [HarmonyandCo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmonyandCo/pseuds/HarmonyandCo) in the [PromptBankGarageSale](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PromptBankGarageSale) collection. 



> The story was betaed by Lighthawk68. Thank you for all your help :D  
> Also, thanks to inPursuitOfMagic, who also helped with beta reading.
> 
> This is a work of fanfiction and not something I will profit from.  
> I do not own the Harry Potter characters and never will. Everything recognisable from the Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling.  
> The idea for this story came to me after I read Lisa Kleypas' Someone to Watch over Me. Plot points recognisable from Someone to Watch over Me belongs entirely to Lisa Kleypas. 
> 
> With all that I hope you will enjoy this story and thank you for reading :)
> 
> The story was written for the Harmony and Co's Prompt Bank Garage Sale  
>  **Prompt:**  
>  Harry loves Hermione. Hermione doesn’t remember who Harry is.  
> Prompter: Anon

_Ministry of Magic_

_London_

_Monday, 5 September 2005_

As was his long-standing habit, Harry Potter arrived at the Ministry of Magic twenty minutes before his workday started. With the five minutes it would take him to reach the Auror Office, he knew he would not be late. At least he shouldn’t have been, but being one of the most famous wizards in all of magical Britain meant he never quite knew how his day would turn out. He had not only been the personification of the Second Wizarding War, but he was now also the face of the Auror Office. It meant that the reporters hanging around the Ministry would always harass him with questions. Normally it would be easy enough to deal with just the usual few reporters. However, today the Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt was going on a tour of St Mungo’s, which meant increased publicity and therefore increased numbers of reporters, hungry for any news.

No, he did not know what measures were in place to protect the Minister. No, he did not know which Aurors would be guarding him and wouldn’t it be better to ask Gawain Robards, who was, in fact, the Head of the Auror Office and the man who planned the security? No, he had no comments on the wedding of Puddlemere United’s Keeper Oliver Wood. No, he also had no comments about the rumour that Draco Malfoy was missing, nor did he listen to rumours in the first place. No, the Auror office was not in a financial crisis, and why did the reporters keep asking him about rumours anyway?

It took him the better part of half an hour to free himself from the reporters, so when he was finally able to reach the lifts, he was late. Luckily, he knew Robards would understand, he always did in these situations, but it still bothered Harry not to be able to arrive at work on time. For someone who took his job as serious as he did, it did not sit well with him. 

He reached Level Two without further interruptions and was striding down the hallway leading to the Auror Office when he nearly collided with two Aurors going the other way. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas had been Aurors as long as Harry had. Of all the Aurors those two were the ones he felt closest too; having stood side by side during the Final Battle had made their friendship strong. 

“I thought you were away on personal leave,” Harry told Seamus, who had been gone for the past two weeks. “I hope everything is fine.”

“Could be better, but at least Mom was finally able to start her treatment,” Seamus replied, but then added with a grin, “and I couldn’t stay away from here forever, now could I?”

“I’m glad to hear it, didn’t you say there were no treatment options here?” Seamus’ mother had been sick for a while, and it had been difficult for the healers and the Muggle doctors to figure out what was wrong. Harry was glad that she could now finally start her treatment, and hopefully, get better.

“Yeah, she had to go to a private clinic in Germany.”

Seamus’ always present smile fell, and he seemed uncomfortable with the conversation, so Harry quickly asked, “So where are you guys going?”

“Off to guard the Minister,” Dean moaned in displeasure. 

Guarding the Minister of Magic _sounded_ like a prestigious job, but no Auror would ever volunteer for it, as it took too much time away from their real work, which was to solve cases and catch the bad guys. Even missing just one day in a case could mean all the leads turned cold. 

“What did you do to piss off Robards?” Harry asked with a wry smile, knowing perfectly well the only reason anyone would do the guarding was because the Head of the Auror office commanded it. 

“Oh you know, _someone_ accidentally set fire to _my_ evidence,” Dean replied, looking at Seamus with a look of frustration, and Seamus looked back with a slightly guilty expression.

“That explains it.” Robards was a fair but strict Head, and he would not have found it easy to accept losing evidence. 

“It really was just an accident,” Seamus retorted. 

“So what about your case?” Harry asked Dean. “You are working on something with the Malfoys, right?”

“I am,” Dean sighed deeply, glaring at Seamus, “or I was until this nuisance decided to burn my evidence. Robards did not appreciate that when I had to inform him.”

“I bet,” Harry replied, grinning.

“At least I didn’t burn anything important,” Seamus grinned.

“That remains to be seen,” Dean replied, then sighed deeply. “I hadn’t gotten through all the documents yet, and I lost a few papers that might have been important, but now I can’t spend today getting it under control.”

“Better not keep the Minister waiting,” Seamus interjected, doing his best to change the conversation. 

Dean looked like he was about to say something more, but Seamus grabbed his arm and started dragging him away, so instead, he said over his shoulder to Harry, “I guess we are leaving. See you later, Harry.”

Chuckling, Harry waved the two Aurors off. He knew Seamus was an excellent Auror, but he would never let him near any case he was working, not again at least. He thought Seamus had gotten his accidental pyrotechnics under control at Hogwarts, but perhaps the stress of his mother’s sickness had gotten the better of his control. Though Harry felt bad for Seamus, for Auror Potter it didn’t actually matter why he burnt the evidence, the crux of the matter was that he did it. So Harry made a promise to himself to keep Seamus away from any of his future cases. Usually, he worked alone anyway since he didn’t trust anyone else to provide the same quality of work. 

That reminded him that he really should talk to Robards as soon as possible about his next assignment. 

As Harry entered the Auror Office, there was a loud buzz of talk and laughter in the air, and no one seemed to be working hard. The only reason would be that Robards had left the office. Frowning, Harry turned his head to the door to Robards’ office and found it closed. It was only ever closed when he was away or was in an important meeting. 

_Damn_ , Harry thought. 

He needed to speak to Robards about his next case since he didn’t have any open cases. For the past week, he had been helping one of the other Aurors, Dorian Fungbury, with a case, but now Fungbury had finally arrested the criminal and didn’t need him anymore. 

Harry looked around the Auror Office. With the open cubicles, it was easy to see who was present. He nodded to the group of Aurors standing around Mordecai Berrycloth’s desk. The group consisted of Berrycloth himself, as well as Cerberus Langarm, and Fungbury. The trio had been Aurors some ten years longer than Harry had and was a tight-knit group. Though Harry got along with them, he had never been friends with them like he was with Seamus and Dean, but they had an excellent professional relationship.

“Do you know when Robards will be back?” he asked them.

“He mentioned something about the Minister and lunch,” Berrycloth replied in his usual, slightly hesitant way of speaking. The wizard was sharp as a knife and had an uncanny ability to recall anything he had read.

Langarm laughed and at the same time rolled his eyes at Berrycloth’s answer. “ _He_ said that he would be back after lunch, but had to go see the Minister about the security measures today and then had a meeting in the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

“Ah,” Harry replied, realising it would be hours before Robards would be back. 

“The reporters got you again?” Fungbury asked, smirking. Having worked closely with Fungbury recently, he had seen how Harry was accosted by reporters daily, and he had laughed and teased Harry relentlessly about it.

“Come on, how am I even supposed to know the details of the security of the tour?” Harry complained, “and even if I did know anything, why do they expect me to tell them? What’s the point of security measures if all the details are leaked anyway?”

Langarm laughed at Harry’s rant. “You know what your problem is, Potter?” And then he didn’t wait for an answer. “You should just not have been so bloody heroic in the war. You messed it up for yourself.”

“Best advice I ever received, thank you. Next time I’ll make sure to inform Voldemort to target someone else,” Harry replied dryly, as he made his way to his desk.

Hanging his jacket over the back of the chair, he sat down and decided to clean up his desk a bit. The desk needed it, and there wasn’t much else he could do until Robards came back unless someone happened to drop a new case in his lap and what was the chance of that happening?

Hours later, when Harry was bored enough to consider going to find Robards himself and interrupt whatever important meeting he was in, one of the Aurors stopped at Harry’s desk.

He saw the movement out of the corner of his eyes and lifted his gaze to Euan Abercrombie, one of the youngest Aurors on the force.

“Hey Harry, do you have a minute?” Abercrombie asked.

Happy for any diversion, he smiled at the younger man. “Sure, what’s up?”

“I just collected the files from the Muggles,” Abercrombie replied, holding a stack of files.

Harry looked at his colleague with a slight smile. “Just place them on the pile.” He pointed to the massive pile of files in the corner. “Someone will get to them eventually.” 

Even though Harry was looking for a new case, he was not about to take one of the Muggle cases! Every Auror, except Abercrombie apparently, knew the Muggle cases were unimportant.

Hardly out of Auror training Abercrombie was still learning all the procedures in the office; he would learn in time that the Muggle cases were not something to waste his time or energy with. It was just a pile of cases the Muggle police had been working on but then gave up on either because they were unsolvable or because the police simply didn’t wish to spend their time working on the cases anymore, so they transferred the files to the Aurors. 

The idea in itself was good, and it was part of a broader cooperation between the Muggle Police Services and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and formed shortly after the war. Apart from the Muggle police dumping the files they didn’t want on the Aurors, it did bring some benefits; all Aurors were registered in the Muggle police system with rank and authority of a Police Inspector and belonging to a special unit under the Metropolitan Police Service called the HEX Division, which specialised in the _unsolvable cases with unexplainable or fantastical components_.

Only once had it been useful for Harry to use his Muggle rank, as he was trying to catch a former Death Eater masquerading as a Muggle and planning a horrible attack on innocent Muggles. With the help of the Muggle Police, the Death Eater was caught, and his plot stopped before he was able to harm anyone, and now he served a life sentence in Azkaban. 

“I don’t think...” Abercrombie said, frowning. “I just looked over the files, and…eh.”

“Yes?” Harry prodded, reminding himself he had been young and unsure about himself once too, and it was more diverting to talk to Abercrombie than to sit around, moving papers back and forth on his desk. 

“Here, just take a look at this one,” Abercrombie finally replied, holding a file out to Harry. “I think you’ll find it interesting.”

With a frown, Harry accepted the file and opened it. He skimmed the information on the first page, trying to find what Abercrombie wanted him to see. “A traffic accident… in Muggle London… five days ago,” he glanced up at Abercrombie. “Why are you showing me this?”

“There’s a picture of the victim,” Abercrombie replied, solemnly. “Please just take a look.”

Harry did as asked and flipped the pages over. There was a picture of a woman, lying in a hospital bed hooked up to a dozen tubes. From the framing of the image, he could not see where the tubes were going, but he knew that many tubes could not be a good sign. His eyes drifted to the woman’s face, and he studied her more closely. Her eyes were closed, her face bruised, actually, all of what he could see of her seemed to be injured, and her face was half-covered by one of those Muggle breathing masks. Her bushy brown hair was lying around her face like a dark, matte halo. She looked horrible, worse than he had ever seen her before, but he had no trouble recognising her. 

Hermione. 

He stared at the picture of his former best friend for a few long moments before he flipped through the file. He skimmed the first few pages again, but there was precious little to go on, which was extremely surprising. The first page was all the administrative information like the time, date and location of the incident as well as ID numbers of the responding police officers. The next page had information about the victim. However, most boxes were left blank. Surely they would know her name, birthday, nationality and so forth. With a frown at the exceedingly sloppy police work, Harry flipped the page over and found the paragraph where the officer in charge had written the incident description.

Quickly, Harry skimmed the information, looking for something that might explain why Hermione was practically a Jane Doe. One word caught his eyes. It was not highlighted but might as well have been, as his eyes were drawn like a magnet. 

Coma.

_… coma, resulting from a traumatic head injury…_

Hermione was in a coma. Bloody hell! 

“I was right to show you this, wasn’t I?” Abercrombie asked, his voice low and uncertain.

Shaken from his reverie, Harry glanced at Abercrombie and croaked out a stammered, “Y-yes.”

“So what do we do?” Abercrombie asked, leaning closer.

What should he do? It didn’t have to matter than this was Hermione, the woman who had broken his heart six years ago. He had helped witches in trouble before, and this would be like any other case. Hermione was just one woman in a sea of plenty. She had no power over his heart anymore, but maybe he should give the case to someone else. Perhaps Seamus, who didn’t have any open cases either.

No! The idea of transferring the case to anyone else didn’t sit well with him, but why should he get involved with her again? With a sigh, he accepted the truth. Even if the end to their friendship had been messy, she was still the girl who had stood by him at Hogwarts. Whatever he had faced, she had been by his side, his constant support and sometimes his only ally. He owed it to _that_ Hermione to help her now. 

And anyway it would be an easy case; determine how severely injured she was and then get in touch with her magical emergency contact. It would be easy, he reasoned. Over in just a few days at most and then he would be able to push Hermione out of his system for good.

“I’m taking the case,” Harry said, waving Abercrombie off without even glancing at him.

After quickly finding the name of the Muggle hospital where she had been admitted, he grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and left the Auror Office without anyone sparing him a glance as he left. 

…

Reaching King’s College Hospital had been easy, but now he found himself held up at the reception, waiting for the doctor in charge to meet him. The receptionist had been quite helpful once he said he was from the police. However, before that, she had been like a fierce wall blocking him from any information and unwilling to help. 

It was times like these Harry loved the cooperation. He grinned at how quickly the receptionist had changed her tune once he had pulled the Muggle police ID. He was still grinning when he noticed a doctor walking towards him. 

“Inspector Potter?” she asked once she was close. 

With a nod, Harry pushed himself from the wall he was leaning against and shook the doctor’s hand.

“Come with me, it’s better if we talk in private.”

The doctor led him into a sparsely decorated meeting room and sat down. Sitting down across from her, Harry reached into his bag and took out Hermione’s file. 

“I was handed the file only this morning. What can you tell me about the victim?”

The doctor glanced at the picture of Hermione. “The victim has endured great trauma. We ran CT scans, and they showed a slight swelling in the left side of her brain, which was a direct result of a blunt force injury to the side of her head from a traffic accident, and we believe this injury is what caused her to be in a coma. Physically, her condition is improving satisfactory, and we expect her to pull out of the coma any day now.”

“But it can’t be normal for a coma to last this long, surely?”

“It’s not uncommon,” the doctor replied. “There have been cases of comas lasting years.” Seeing the worried look on Harry’s face, the doctor quickly added, “We firmly believe the victim will wake up soon. We monitor brain activity and body functions, and she has recovered at a remarkable speed.”

 _Probably it was her magical abilities and her core that had sped up her recovery_ , he thought. “Can I see her now?”

“Of course,” the doctor replied, and then slowly rose. “I will show you to her room.”

When Harry was able to finally lay his eyes on Hermione, the first thing he noticed was that she was not hooked up to as many machines as she had been in the picture in her file. 

She seemed to be sleeping peacefully, at least her chest rose and fell in a reasonably stable rhythm. Lifting his eyes to her face, he noticed many of the bruises had healed, and she didn’t look as sickly pale as he had feared. She looked like she was on the way to recovery. When the doctor said she was still in a coma, he had feared finding her in a much worse condition. 

She looked like she was sleeping, not on death’s door. That had to be a good sign, he reasoned and breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realised he was holding his breath until then. Even if he and Hermione had not been friends for years, he just could not imagine a world where she didn’t live. 


	2. Chapter 2

Having confirmed that Hermione was recovering well, Harry sat down in the chair next to her bed and looked at her file. He had not actually read it, only skimmed through the police report and rushed to the hospital. However, if he hoped to help her, he needed to know what had happened, and he needed to contact her magical emergency contact. And that information could be found in her file. 

Of course, he knew that her emergency contact was Ron Weasley. Married couples always had their spouse. But knowing and _knowing_ were two completely different concepts, so it was with some apprehension he opened her file. Frowning, he looked at the documents; there were less than he had expected. There were none of the standard magical records, only the police report, a letter from the hospital and the picture of Hermione. He flipped through the police report, looking for the incident report, as that might shed some light on what had happened to her. 

_  
4 September 2005_

_A van hit the victim at the junction of Pentonville Rd and Killick St, Kings Cross, London, Great Britain on 1 September 2005 at 21.30. According to eyewitness reports, the victim came running south down Calshot St, turned onto Pentonville Rd heading west. When she was near Killick St, she suddenly ran into the road in front of a van. The driver of the van could not apply the brakes in time, and the victim was hit and thrown along the road._

_An eyewitness reported that the victim was acting strangely, looking over her shoulder frequently as if she was fleeing someone or something. However, other eyewitnesses only stated that the victim ran into them or brushed against them in a frantic dash down Pentonville Rd, acting drunk or perhaps even on drugs. A full toxicology test was ordered but came back negative._

_After the accident, the victim was brought to King’s College Hospital, Camberwell, London. A report from the hospital indicates that the victim suffers from injuries to the head and torso. The victim is currently in a coma, resulting from a traumatic head injury, and the hospital cannot estimate when she will regain consciousness._

_The victim carried no personal belongings, which could be used to identify her. She does not match any missing person reports. Therefore, the case should be transferred to the HEX division for identification of the victim, since it currently is an unsolvable case as the victim is in a coma.  
  
_

The incident report didn’t make sense; why would she be running frantically around Kings Cross in the evening? The location of the accident was not far from Grimmauld Place, but she had been running in the opposite direction, towards King Cross Station. Perhaps she was headed towards the station when the accident occurred? But as far as he knew she lived somewhere in South London, so what was she doing that far north? 

And better yet, why was she running from a Muggle? If the first eyewitness could be trusted, then Hermione appeared to have been fleeing from someone, and logic dictated it was a Muggle chasing her, because why else run and not apparate? But then if it was a case of a Muggle assault, then why had she not used her magic to get away? During the war, she had faced Death Eaters without flinching, and she had cast curses to save her life. Why would she not do that if a Muggle attacked her? Even with the Statute of Secrecy, she was allowed to defend herself! She could have cast a simple spell to subdue the attacker, or she could have blasted him into a wall, knocking him unconscious. She could have done so many things, and yet she had fled on foot right into traffic. It just didn’t make sense. 

Looking for more information, he flipped through the documents of the file until he got to the letter from the hospital. It was dated the day after her accident and addressed to the police officer in charge of the case, and it seemed to be a report of the injuries Hermione had suffered in the accident. 

_  
King’s College Hospital, 2 September 2005_

_The patient was admitted to King’s College Hospital on Thursday, 1 September 2005, at 22.14. When the patient was brought in, she was suffering multiple traumas throughout her body caused by both vehicular impact and ground impact. The most severe traumas pertain to her head and torso, including traumatic brain injuries with aspects of both focal and diffuse injury, acute spinal cord injury, and pelvic fracture._

_During initial procedures, the patient was immobilised to reduce stress on the cervical spine. Due to the mechanical trauma on her spinal cord and to limit the risk of secondary damage to the brain, due to hypotension and hypoxia, the patient was treated with high dose steroids._

_The patient was unconscious upon admission. When the patient had been unconscious for more than six hours, her state was changed to ‘coma’. The coma was evaluated using the Glasgow Coma Scale (GCS), where she scored 7 (GCS 7 = E3 V2 M2 at 05.49 02/9/2005), which is classified as severe brain injury. The coma was a direct result of a traumatic head injury on the left side of her brain, leading to swelling of the brain. The patient was treated with osmotherapy using mannitol to decrease the swelling, but it is not possible to estimate when the patient will regain consciousness. The patient has been placed on a ventilator to ensure adequate oxygenation of the lungs and body. Due to the coma, the patient also received a nasogastric feeding tube as well as electrolytes to regulate body processes and limit dehydration and starvation._

_The patient also suffered both splenic and hepatic injuries as well as open cuts and laceration. These injuries were not severe and did not require immediate actions. Further, the patient also had wounds on her hands and broken nails not directly correlated to the accident. The origin of these injuries is not known. Non-operative procedures were taken for the abdominal injuries as the patient was stable, and the grade of the injury was sufficiently low. However, if future CT scans show a worsening of the traumas, the patient will undergo operative surgery._

_Blood tests were ordered, and a toxicology test was performed. All of the tested compounds showed normal levels, meaning no unexpected drugs were found in the samples.  
  
_

Merlin, what had he just read? Rereading the letter, Harry found himself baffled, not only by the explanation of her wounds but also by the sheer magnitude of her injuries. Immediately he read the letter for a third time, but the words and explanations still didn’t make sense to him, but he did understand the gist of it; she had been terribly hurt. _Severe brain injury_ , those words he had no trouble understanding, and he felt a shiver run through him. These injuries were grave and had he read this before seeing her he might not have believed her to recover. And even as he looked at her now, he knew she would pull through. 

...

“Let me understand this,” Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office, said. “Not only did you decide to take one of the Muggle cases, but you did so because you know the victim personally. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry replied, honestly. He was sitting in Robards’ office, having come to the conclusion he needed his Head’s expertise and advice, while also aware Robards would disapprove of Harry taking the case in the first place. 

“You know the victim… you are already emotionally compromised.” 

Robards firmly believed, and thus had taught all the Aurors, that emotions complicated cases and messed up logic thinking. Remaining impassive at all times was the best an Auror could strive for. 

For years that strategy had worked well for Harry, sealing away his feelings, he was able to solve all the cases he had worked on quickly and effectively. He had been very successful, and he had made a name for himself as an Auror. He had proven himself time and time again. He knew he did a great job, and he would solve Hermione’s case as quickly and effectively as any other case. 

“Why not give the case to one of the other Aurors? Finnigan perhaps, as he doesn’t have any open cases after he came back, or Thomas who is eager to pick up extra work.”

Harry had no plan to give up the case, so he ignored the suggestion and tried to draw Robards’ attention away from it, but still found himself asking, “Why does Dean want extra work?” 

“Money, Potter. He’s looking to pick up overtime pay. However, it is not any of your business as you will not hand the case over.”

It wasn’t so much a question of willingness to hand over the case. It was something else, something deeper, something he didn’t quite understand. But there was no doubt in his mind that he _needed_ to be working on this case. He could not hand Hermione over to someone else as if she was just a random victim in a random case. 

Even though she was just that, was she?

“I _have_ to work this case,” he said, leaning forward, trying to emphasise his meaning.

With his hands steepled in front of him, Robards shook his head slightly. “I do not agree,” he said. After a moment, he continued, “But you are an excellent Auror, probably one of the best I have ever worked with, so I will let you keep the case.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Now what is it you need from me?”

“Advice, Sir.” Now that Robards had agreed to let him keep the case, he breathed a sigh of relief and jumped right in. “The victim is in a coma, and I haven’t been a part of her life for the last six years. I don’t know where to start.”

“What information do you currently have?” Robards inquired in a slightly more genial tone. But before Harry was able to reply, he apparently changed his mind, as he said, “No, never mind. Show me the file instead.”

Quickly, Harry handed the thin file over to his mentor, who flipped through the pages and skimmed the documents with the proficiency of someone who had done so a million times before. 

“Where are her magical records?” Robards asked, as he reached the end of the file and looked at Harry again. 

Before an Auror even got a case, information from the Magical Register Office was added. That information included current address, marriages, emergency contacts, place of work if it was within the Ministry, St Mungo’s, or Hogwarts, and whatever other information was registered. Seeing the records missing in the file had surprised Harry since all other cases he had ever worked had included them, but he figured they just didn’t exist. 

“There aren’t any.”

“Of course, there are.” Robards scoffed with a look of incredulity. “But for some reason, they were not added this time. Why not?” As Robards skimmed the few documents in the file, a frown insinuated itself between his brows. His expression suddenly cleared, and he looked up at Harry again. “Do you know how the magical records are cross-referenced?”

“By magic.”

“ _What_ information is used for the magic to cross-reference?” Robards asked, scowling. 

Harry considered the question thoroughly. Having never considered it before, he felt foolish, as he managed a grudging reply. “I don’t know.”

“The victim’s name or ID number.”

“Merlin,” Harry whispered, grimacing at his idiocy and covering his face with his hands. Why had he not considered that? Just believing that no magical records meant they didn’t exist. Bloody hell, he had behaved like a novice. 

“Emotionally compromised.” 

For an Auror who prided himself on being effective, it was disheartening to realise he had already failed. Maybe Robards was right? Perhaps he was emotionally compromised. 

No, that couldn’t be as that required feelings for the victim that he did not possess. This case was just like any other. 

“Potter, do not let your emotions cloud your mind.”

“I’ll get on it immediately.” Harry practically sprang from the chair. “I’ll head straight to Registries,” he said, using the informal word for the Magical Register Office. 

As Robards seemed to have voiced all the warnings he wanted, he looked at Harry with a smile. “My door is always open, should you need it.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry replied, determined to get the magical records as soon as possible. 

Just as he reached the door, Robards suddenly called out to him. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that Thomas is looking for you.”

“What does Dean need?”

“It was something about his missing person case and one of the witnesses. He wanted your help to get in contact with the witness, I believe, but he didn’t say much else. Better talk to him yourself.”

The only reason Dean would need his help with a witness was that the witness was uncooperative and Dean hoped Harry’s fame might help. This was not the first time the other Aurors exploited his fame, but this time Harry didn’t wish to waste his time helping out.

“Thank you, Sir. I’ll speak to Dean when I have the opportunity.”

Leaving the office, Harry glanced over the open cubicles of the Auror Office. Many desks were empty, but a few Aurors were still at work, including Dean. He appeared to be mulling over something on his desk while writing notations on a piece of parchment. Dean was clearly very busy, probably trying to catch up from the previous day he’d spent on guard duty, so better not disturb him. Better to leave it for another time, Harry decided with a grin. Anyway, what case could be so bloody important it couldn’t wait the few days it took him to sort Hermione’s case?

Quietly, Harry slipped out of the Auror Office and headed to Registries, which were part of the Administrative Services on Level One. As an Auror, he could easily call forth the information if he had just considered to do it. He could kick himself for the oversight, but at least he was on the right path now, and hopefully, one blunder would not harm anything. He just had to make sure he would not make any more mistakes. 

The clerk behind the counter at Registries was a pleasant young man, whom Harry thought might have once been on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, but he wasn’t entirely certain. After presenting his errand, the clerk seemed unsure about what to do.

“Is there a problem?”

“It’s just I’m new here and wasn’t supposed to work alone, but my supervisor didn’t show up today,” the clerk replied. “I really shouldn’t be working alone yet. So let’s see. I remember Mr Munch telling me I had to fill the forms.” He looked disorientated and bewildered as he searched through the stacks of forms in front of him. “Request a registrar for a wedding… no that doesn’t sound right. How about this; order certificates or records? That sounds right, doesn’t it?” 

Impatiently, Harry took the form from the clerk and filled it out before handing it back. 

The clerk accepted the form and dumped it in the bin next to him. “I think this is the right way to do it.”

Harry blinked twice, not comprehending that the clerk had just thrown the form out. If he had not seen it with his own eyes, he would not believe the incompetence. How anyone could leave such a useless clerk in charge was mind-boggling. Whatever his Quidditch skills might be, his skills as a clerk were lacking. 

He didn’t have time for this, but he needed those files. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “Why did you throw the form in the bin?”

The clerk looked at Harry, then the bin, and then back at Harry. “I... eh…”

“Perhaps the form should be filed over there,” he inquired icily, pointing to a letterbox marked REQUESTS & ORDERS. 

The clerk turned to the letterbox and grinned. “Right! That does seem more likely, doesn’t it?” He bent to pick the form from the trash and dumped it in the letterbox. 

Feeling the throbbing of the vein in his temple, Harry impatiently asked, “How much longer?”

The clerk shrugged and shook his head. “Don’t know.”

Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Harry tried not to murder the clerk right then and there, but as the minutes ticked by he became more and more frustrated. Why was it taking so long? Had the clerk done something else wrong? Probably!

Then suddenly he heard a flapping noise and looked up to see a parchment gliding in the air. The white of the parchment and the gliding motion reminded Harry of Hedwig, and he smiled at the memory. As the paper came nearer, it slowly started its descent until it was low enough for the clerk to grab it from the air. 

“That’s the first one,” the clerk said, stating the obvious. 

Carefully he lay the document on the desk and straightened it by running his fingers over the slight creases. As Harry watched, more and more parchments came gliding towards the clerk, who caught each of them and placed them on the desk with the same care as the first. 

When no more documents arrived, the clerk looked at the small stack and flipped through it. “This should be all we have recorded about Miss Granger.”

… 

Back at the hospital, Harry sat next to Hermione’s bed. A cup of tea, forgotten and cold, was next to him, while his full attention was on the parchments in front of him. Slowly he reached forward and picked up the first of the magical records, but found two of them sticking together. Wasn’t that just typical? Unfortunately, there was a risk of the records sticking together, and no one knew why it happened; perhaps it had something to do with the ink that was used to write the records, perhaps it had something to do with the magic involved. Whatever the reason, Harry was sure it was going to cause trouble for the Aurors one of these days. 

With a sigh, he slowly peeled a Ministry employment contract from the back of the marriage record and put it aside. His full attention was on the marriage record. 

_  
Ministry of Magic Official Marriage Record for: _

_Miss Hermione Jean Granger of Flat 4, 101 Effra Parade, Brixton, London_

_~ No Record ~  
  
_

As he realised the words he had expected to read were not the ones printed on the record, he felt a multitude of emotions that he didn’t quite know how to identify. Six years ago he had fallen madly and deeply in love with Hermione, but she had quickly rejected him and chosen Ron Weasley instead. Those two were so wrong for each other, but when he had told her that, she had gotten mad and said that he was a horrible friend. And yet, her records showed she had not married Ron, nor anyone else for that matter. Why not?

He looked at her again, as if expecting her to answer his silent question, but she hadn’t moved. What had she been doing for the past many years? Suddenly he felt extremely regretful by the realisation of how much he had missed out on in her life. 

But then again, _she_ had told him to go away. 

_But you could have ignored that_. He could have fought for their friendship, but he hadn’t done that. After she had turned him down and told him to get away, he had obeyed. The knowledge that she loved Ron made the decision easy, as he didn’t want to be around them when they were happy and in love. But actually cutting himself from their lives had been surprisingly hard, but he had done it.

Not only had he stayed away from Hermione and Ron, but he had stayed away from all the Weasleys too. It had already been uncomfortable after Ginny had made her confession, and he was unable to return her love. Since then, the atmosphere at the Weasley’s was strained and awkward with half of them pushing for him and Ginny to get married and the other half clueless to anything out of the ordinary happening. 

To be near Hermione, he would happily have endured it. But after her rejection, he had cut all ties. Anyone who was friends with her had been cut from his life in one swift move. It was best that way. 

Being around people who did not talk to her was freeing and had helped him move on. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed hanging out with Dean and Seamus. They had never been close to her, had not kept contact after Hogwarts, so their conversations never included her. For years he had believed that to be optimal, but now he wasn’t so sure. 

All his assumptions about her life rested on one simple fact, her marriage, but she hadn’t married Ron. Why the hell hadn’t she?

All this reminiscence about the past was making him uncomfortable, as he realised just how much his assumptions had been wrong… 

No! There was another explanation! One that still fitted with all his theories. One much more likely; she and Ron were dating and were just waiting to tie the knot. 

Yes, that made more sense, and it was a valid explanation. It was much more likely to be the case, and once he looked at her emergency contact information, he would see Ron’s name there.

Still, it was with some trepidation he picked the document up. 

_  
Magical Emergency Contact for:_

_Miss Hermione Jean Granger of Flat 4, 101 Effra Parade, Brixton, London_

_Is registered on 11 March 2002 as the following:_

_Miss Cho Chang of 29 Pelham Cres, South Kensington, London._   
  


What? 

Wait. 

No.

What?

That couldn’t be right. It had to be a mistake! 

Staring at the document, he was imagining the letters rearranging themselves into the name he expected to see, but no matter how long he stared, the name remained. 

Cho Chang. 

But that just couldn’t be right. Even with the name there in black and white, he still could not believe it. It made no sense, and yet the file was a certified transcript. This _was_ the information registered. 

But it made no sense. 

Six years ago Hermione and Cho had been nothing more than slight acquaintances from Hogwarts, but they had to be close now for Cho to be Hermione’s emergency contact. It was not a light commitment. You had to trust the other person with your life because an emergency contact had a lot of power. 

In case of an emergency, the contact had the legal authority to act on behalf of the person in _all_ matters. They could empty their Gringotts vault, sell their house, or even demand the healers stop lifesaving treatment. 

Just why did Cho have that kind of power over Hermione’s life and what did she plan to do with it? 


	3. Chapter 3

Darkness surrounded her. Sluggishly her mind slowly shifted from the deepest blackness to swirling greys interspersed with short bursts of scarlet. As she tried to focus on the play of light, excruciating pain exploded through her body, making her muscles cramp. Holding herself perfectly still, she felt as the pain gradually receded. She exhaled, only to discover breathing was an unwelcome burden on her sore throat, making her cough instead. 

“Hermione?”

The voice was soft-spoken and sounded almost hopeful to her, bringing her instant comfort. She relaxed, letting herself drift back into the dark oblivion, only to have the voice call again. 

“Can you hear me?” 

This time there was an edge to the voice. It seemed important that she responded and immediately she fought to regain wakefulness. 

With great effort, she forced her eyes open, wincing at the bright lights in the room. After blinking a few times, the world moved into focus. Her gaze drifted around the room trying to recognise it, but it was all so unfamiliar to her. 

Carefully, she turned her head on the pillow and saw a man leaning slightly over her; his face marked by concern. In a passing glance, she saw his dark hair was falling hazardously about his face, but what she really noticed was his vivid green eyes, which were framed by round dark-rimmed glasses. His eyes looked warm and friendly.

She tried to speak, but only a croaking sound emerged from her throat. Making her mouth work turned out to be more difficult than she expected, but she managed a barely audible, “Water…”

“Oh, of course. Allow me to help you.” 

With infinite gentleness, he adjusted her position on the bed, supported her head with his arm behind her neck, and then held a glass of water to her lips, slowly tilting it back. Greedily, she drank the cool water, and she was amazed by how much better she immediately felt. Once she finished the water, he eased her head back to the pillows and adjusted the blanket around her. 

Her tongue felt thick, but her voice sounded more regular as she asked, “Who are you?”

He started, clearly not expecting her question, and his eyes flew to hers. “Don’t you know me?”

She looked at him more closely and tried to reach for any semblance of recognition in this stranger, but found nothing. 

He must have seen the answer to his question in her face, as he said, “My name is Harry. Harry Potter.” 

“Harry Potter,” she repeated, but the name was as unfamiliar as he was. “Who are you to me?”

He appeared to consider what to say for a long time, but eventually he settled on, “We’re friends.”

That was good, she decided with a nod, but she didn’t know what else to say. Neither did he apparently, and as the silence stretched out, she found her mind wandering. 

Where exactly was she? She didn’t recognise the bland interior of the room. It didn’t feel like home… Home? She couldn’t remember her home. Now she considered it; she had no recollection of anything or anyone. 

Her mind was blank! 

It was like all her memories were hiding from her, and apprehension and panic threatened to overwhelm her. 

She twisted around on the bed, her panicked gaze looking for anything recognisable in the small room, but nothing stood out. Her eyes flooded with tears of confusion, her breath hitched, and her throat felt dry. 

“I-I-I can’t remember! Wh-h-hy can’t I remember?” 

He moved quickly. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his weight depressing the mattress, he held her hands. “It must be the accident,” he replied, his voice calm. “I’m sure it will all come back soon. Just give it time.” 

Carefully he pulled her into his arms and held her while she cried. 

“It is alright.”

Though she knew nothing was alright, she still took comfort in his words and his gentleness. Her arms wrapped around him, finding comfort in his presence. Though she didn’t remember him, she felt safe in his arms, and she felt herself relax. 

“We’ll sort out everything later. Now you just rest and get better,” he whispered gently against her hair. 

Exhausted, she closed her eyes and fell asleep while he still held her securely. 

…

Merlin, how could she not remember anything? He had to ask the doctor whether that was normal. It couldn’t possibly be.

Lying there in the bed, finally sleeping peacefully again, she looked good. Well, maybe not _good_ good, but at least better. Her skin was a bit dull and grey, without the usual glow of heath, but he was confident it would come back as she recovered. Her eyes were dull too, and she had looked extremely terrified. He clearly remembered the brilliant sparkle that used to be in her brown eyes when she was happy or excited, and he wanted to bring that sparkle back even if he had to buy all the books at Flourish and Blotts to do so. 

Her hair was falling wildly around her face and across the pillow. It was longer now, he noticed. Immediately after the war, she had cut it very short, as a way to exorcise her demons from that horror. A small change that changed something fundamental about her, she had said. Evidently, she had decided to grow her hair long again. He reached out and gently removed a curl falling across her forehead. 

He would help Hermione because it was his duty as an Auror, but it was more than just duty that had him sit with her every day. He felt that he owed it to her to help her. He could be a good friend to her, and perhaps they might find some way of saving their friendship. 

Now, he just needed to hear back from the emergency contact. He had already sent an owl to Cho Chang but had not yet received an answer, and in the absence of her emergency contact, he was the one in charge, but how should he proceed? Should he have her transferred to St Mungo’s or keep her here in the Muggle hospital? That was a question for the emergency contact; how could Harry possibly make that decision? And yet he had to.

Okay, so keeping her here would ensure the treatments could proceed as planned while transferring her to St Mungo’s might interrupt that. Also, it was a Muggle traffic accident, so maybe the Muggles knew more about treatment options, and moving her to another unfamiliar hospital probably might not be beneficial. 

Yes, the Muggles had more experience with this type of accident. She was better off remaining here. 

With a sigh, he wandered to the windows and stared outside, looking out over the busy streets, but his eyes didn’t see anything. His gaze was pointed inwards. 

...

Every time Hermione opened her eyes over the next couple of days, her mind still felt empty and foreign, like it wasn’t her mind at all. Slowly, however, a few childhood memories returned to her, like reading Sherlock Holmes stories when she was young or walking in London Zoo with her parents on Sundays. But she could not remember anything about Harry. 

At first, the doctor had been optimistic, saying her memories would return quickly, but as the days passed, the doctor became less and less convincing. The tests, they kept running on her, all showed nothing out of the ordinary, and finally, the doctor told her to be patient. 

“Usually, in these types of cases, the memories will return, but I cannot say when. It could be tomorrow or in years.”

“Years?” Hermione repeated in a whisper, shocked and frightened. Could she be stuck here for years in this strange limbo? She clasped Harry’s hand in a tight grip. In this confusing situation, she was glad of his support. 

“Could it really take years before she remembers?” he asked the doctor, but his eyes were on Hermione. 

“Well, it all depends on her brain,” the doctor replied, and then looked directly at Hermione. “You’ve recovered incredibly well, but head wounds are notoriously unpredictable. I cannot see any physical reason why you suffer amnesia, but head wounds are dangerous exactly because they are so unpredictable.”

“Dangerous? What does that mean? Will it kill me?” 

“No, nothing of the sort. You are recovering, but we cannot say when you might regain your memories.”

“So she’s as healthy as she can be for now?” Harry asked, and when the doctor confirmed, he continued, “So when can she leave?”

“Hmm. I would not recommend moving her in her current state, but I do recognise the need for her to be in her known environment. However, she is mentally very fragile; her mind is trying to cope with what has happened and find connections to rewire itself, so we must be patient. The head wound itself is not the danger now, but her mental health is not stable. Let her memories return on their own.”

…

Waking from a nap, she looked around the boring room in the boring hospital. She had been awake for days already, and yet nothing had changed. She was bored, and the only good thing about her current situation was the ever-present Harry. She felt terrible that she could not remember him, as he must have been a good friend since he spent all his time at the hospital with her. He was sitting beside her bed with a frown between his brows and his expression determined. Fondly she observed him, while he seemed lost in thoughts. After a couple of seconds, he blinked, and his gaze focussed on hers. 

“You are awake,” he commented, his expression cleared and he smiled warmly at her. “The nurse brought your dinner.” He indicated a tray of food on the table. “I put a _Stasis_ on it to keep it fresh. Do you feel up to eating?”

She shook her head; she felt slightly nauseous. Food was the last thing she wanted, especially hospital food. “Not really.”

“You probably should eat something. Just a small bite will suffice. It will help you recover, and the sooner you recover, the sooner you can leave here.”

“Can’t we just talk instead?” 

He sighed but didn’t seem entirely against the idea. “What would you like to talk about?” 

“Can you tell me anything about me?”

“How about you eat and I’ll answer a few of your questions?” he suggested softly.

It was probably the best deal she would be able to make, so she agreed, and her questions came out in a rush. “Do I have any family? How did we meet? How old am I? Where...” she cut herself off, seeing the expression on his face. 

His expression was frozen in shock, but then he burst out laughing and it took a few moments for him to get himself under enough control to be able to say, “Let’s take one question at a time so that I might actually be able to answer.”

She didn’t need to think long. “My family” Thinking of possible siblings, a husband, or even children. “Who are they and what are they like?”

“Eat,” he commanded, and when she dutifully started on her food, he continued, “You were an only child, and your parents are no longer with us.” 

So no family. Trying to absorb that, she didn’t quite know how to feel about it, if she was honest, so she changed the subject. “How did we meet?”

“We met when we both attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Her mind slowly recognised the name of the school, but she couldn’t recall much else about Hogwarts than it was a school for magic. “And when was that?”

“In 1991.”

“Oh, that’s so long ago,” she furrowed her brows. “We must have been very young.”

“We were eleven,” and then he turned his attention to her needs. “Can I get you anything to make you more comfortable? A blanket perhaps?” 

“No, thank you.” Shaking her head, she took another bite of food. “Do you know why I am here? The doctor only said it was an accident.”

He seemed to consider how to answer for a long time, long enough for her to doubt whether he actually would reply, but eventually, he said. “There was a traffic accident, and a van hit you.”

“Oh.”

For a long time, neither spoke, yet the silence was not uncomfortable. It was surprisingly companionable sitting together, and she felt a sense of peace, but even so, she hoped she could soon leave the hospital. “Do you know how long I’ll have to remain here?”

“No, I don’t know. The doctor didn’t say, but I’ll be sure to find out.” 

She was so lucky to have this guy on her side. She just couldn’t imagine going through all of this alone. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything you’ve done for me.”

He accepted her gratitude by inclining his head slightly, but the pink high on his cheek indicated he felt embarrassed by the conversation. Fearing she had said too much, she hastened to change the topic. “So Harry Potter, what do you do?”

“Excuse me?”

“What is your job? What do you work with?

“I’m an Auror.” He looked confused by the question as if no one had ever asked him about his job before, which of course was ludicrous. The only way for that to be the case was if he was so famous that everyone automatically knew everything about him. She smiled at the idea of someone so famous sitting by her bedside in a random hospital and dismissed the idea entirely. 

She shook her head, not comprehending what an Auror was. 

“It’s like a wizard police detective,” he elaborated.

“Oh,” she replied, eagerly leaning towards him, as she realised she knew something about detectives, or she knew of one detective. “So you are like Sherlock Holmes?”

“Sherlock Holmes? That is who you want to compare me with?” 

“But Sherlock Holmes is amazing, and he is also the only detective I can think of right now. So are you a Sherlock Holmes type of detective?” 

He tried to look serious, but one corner of his mouth twitched. “I wish, alas I don’t know how to play the violin.”

Perhaps it was the deadpan delivery of his answer, or maybe it was just the surprise of him making a joke, but for a moment she just stared at him, unblinking, and then she burst into laughter and gently punched him in the arm. Her laughter must have been contagious because he started to laugh too. 

...

A few days later, Hermione sat nervously in a chair in the doctor’s office. Harry stood to the side, listening intently as the doctor gave him the aftercare instructions. The previous day Harry had informed her that he would bring her to Grimmauld Place, which was his home instead of bringing her to her flat. He had presented her with a lot of reasons why Grimmauld Place was preferable, but all that really mattered to her was that Harry thought it was the better option. Currently, she trusted his opinion more than her own. 

Turning to Hermione with a professional smile, the doctor said, “Lots of rest and don’t overtask yourself.”

When the doctor finally allowed them to go, Harry tucked Hermione to his side, a strong arm around her waist as they walked through the entrance and out of the hospital. 

“We just need to find a safe spot for Apparating,” he said, looking around them. 

Soon he must have found what he was looking for as he led her to a dark corner in an alley behind the hospital.

“Hang on,” he said and put his arms firmly around her, and then added, “Apparition is not pleasant.”

Everything turned black around her, as she was being squeezed very hard from all directions. Breathing became impossible, and she felt forced into a tight ball. The feeling was odd, but not painful, and it was instantaneous. When it ended, and she was back on her own two feet, she swayed on her legs and would have collapsed, if not for Harry still holding on to her. 

He had been right; it was not pleasant. It wasn’t horrible either, but it brought back her nausea, and she took a few deep breaths to calm her stomach so that her lunch did not end up all over the carpeted entryway.

“Do you want to lie down and rest?” he asked, and instead of replying she just nodded. Lying down sounded very good just then. 

He led her up the stairs to the first floor. “This floor has a couple of bedrooms and a drawing-room. There are more bedrooms upstairs if you’d rather use one of them.”

She looked around the landing they were on. “Which floor is your room on?”

“I’m here,” he replied, laying his hand on a closed door. “The bedroom over there is free if you want.”

She looked to where he was pointing and opened the door. The room beyond was sparsely decorated, but there was a big bed and in the corner was a wooden cabinet. It was the first time since she woke up in the hospital that she was actually glad to see a bed and even happier to be able to lie down.

“This looks fine,” she said and sat down on the bed. She closed her eyes and fell back into the pillows with a satisfied sigh. 

“I guess I’ll leave you to it then,” Harry grinned. “If you need anything just let me know.” 

As he closed the door behind him when he left, she noticed how quiet the room was. She could hear no noise from outside even though they were in the middle of London. Before she could consider it more closely, she drifted off to sleep without even being aware of it.


	4. Chapter 4

_ The sky suddenly opened above her, cascades of water breaking through the air. The heavy rain soaked her clothes in seconds and made the street slippery to run, but still, she persisted. She blinked hard against the water and used her hands to wipe it from her face. She knew she could not run fast enough to escape the pursuing wizard, but she would not give up. She knew that if he caught her, he would torture her to get the information and then he would kill her.  _

_ She looked over her shoulder and saw him lift his wand and take aim. Having lost her own wand when he ambushed her, she had no way to protect herself. She had only her motion and the distance between them as a defence, but it could not last much longer. Earlier she had gotten away from him using a well-placed kick to his groin, but she knew she had only succeeded by catching him off guard. She wouldn’t be able to use the same trick twice. _

_ “Stupefy!”  _

_ She heard him cast behind her and she nearly gave up trying to escape, thinking she could not outrun a spell, but instead she threw herself around a corner. Almost tripping over some stabled cardboard boxes, she caught her balance in the last second and hurried down the street. Pushing past Muggles, she paid them no mind, her focus entirely on her escape and the wizard behind her. _

_ Her heart was pounding fast in her chest, and her throat was hurting. She was tired and scared and wet. She wanted to slow down and to consider her options, but she knew if she stopped, she wouldn’t be able to start again.  _

_ She was somewhere in Kings Cross, and if she had not gotten herself turned around, then she was not far from Grimmauld Place and Harry. If she just reached it, she would be safe. No matter what had happened back then to cause Harry to act so strangely, it was still Harry. Good, honourable Harry. And even though her pursuer was a wizard, she knew Harry would help her and find some way to protect her.  _

_ Seeing the top of the red clocktower of the St Pancras Chambers, she realised in despair that she was headed in the wrong direction. Grimmauld Place was behind her, and she was headed towards Kings Cross Station instead. Hopefully, she would be able to lose her pursuer in the hubbub of the station. She looked back, he was still in pursuit, and he was gaining on her.  _

_ With her eyes on the wizard behind her, she didn’t realise she had run into the road. She didn’t see the van coming at her until it was too late. The driver of the van braked violently, but on the greasy wet surface his wheels had no grip, and the van skidded forward. The van crashed into her hard, and sent her flying through the air. She heard screaming, honking car horns, and then the loud thud as something hit the ground and everything went dark. _

…

Hermione woke up screaming and sat up with a frantic start, her heart hammering in her chest. Panic and terror momentarily held her imprisoned in the limbo between dream and reality. The emotions of despair and hopelessness were so strong, and the nightmare had been so real. 

It took her a few moments to remember she was safe. She breathed a sigh of relief, which turned into a gasp as something inside of her warned her that she shouldn’t relax, something was wrong. 

Never had a dream happened with such clarity. The images were so crisp and the emotions so real, and so unlike any other dream. And then she realised what it was. 

The nightmare wasn’t a nightmare; it was a memory. 

She had relived  _ that  _ night. 

Someone had deliberately tried to kill her, and she had no idea why or what to do about it. A sob caught in her throat as she hugged her knees to her chest, and only then did she notice Harry sitting beside her on the bed, whispering to her, trying to calm her. 

“It was just a dream. You are safe,” he whispered over and over again, as he gently held her. 

She shook her head while she turned into his embrace, her face buried in the crook of his neck. His hands were running up and down her arms in a soothing gesture, but she didn’t feel calm. She felt weak and scared.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Immediately she shook her head, but then just as suddenly changed her mind. It wasn’t that she wanted to talk about it, but she wanted Harry to make it better. He could help. So far, he was the only person she trusted to help her, and also her memory-self had trusted him explicitly. 

And he had said he was a detective!

Hesitantly and with a shaky voice, she told him what she recalled, trembling as she spoke. The feeling of pure panic and alarm was still gripping her. The fear she had felt as she fled for her life was still so intense. Even as she spoke, tears were running down her cheeks, but she paid them no mind. 

Harry’s arms stopped their gentle movements, his body reacting to her words, growing rigid the more she spoke until he was stiff as a board. Anger and shock were practically radiating from him. 

“I—,” he began, his voice breaking. Seemingly unable to continue talking, he tightened his arms around her, holding her to his chest and gently stroking her hair. 

“I was so scared,” she admitted on a sob. 

“You are safe now,” he mumbled, an edge to his voice that she could not recognise. “Do you remember what the assailant looked like?” 

She thought about it, but couldn’t recall anything. “No, I’m sure I saw him, but I don’t remember.”

She turned her head slightly to see his face. His expression was grim; the lines around his eyes and mouth were hard, his mouth just a thin line, and his nostrils flared. But as soon as their eyes met his countenance softened, his arms relaxed, and he said in a gentle voice, “It’s alright.”

Ever since she opened her eyes in the hospital, he had been a constant support in her life. Currently, he was the only person she trusted, herself included, so if he said she was safe, she believed him. Armed with that knowledge, she felt the memory’s grip on her recede, and she was finally able to relax. Exhaustion claimed her, but before she drifted completely off to sleep again, she heard him whisper, “I will keep you safe.”

…

A muscle worked spasmodically in Harry’s throat as he looked at Hermione’s sleeping form. Her sleep seemed peaceful now, but he still didn’t leave her room. Instead, he went to the window, looking outside, trying to remain the emotionless Auror, while rage, as he had never known before, was burning through him. 

Why would anyone attack Hermione? There could be no explanation that would suffice for this vile act. She had no enemies, and she had not— 

He scowled, as he realised he could not say much about what she had been up to over the past six years. Still, he could not imagine the Hermione he knew at Hogwarts ever doing anything to warrant such despicable retribution. Ultimately, it did not matter for he would never let anyone get away with trying to kill her. Instead, he would protect her, keep her safe from all harm. He would make sure no one could ever cause her pain or suffering again. 

But the fact her assailant was a wizard completely changed everything. Keeping her safe was suddenly a completely different task than he had expected when they left the hospital, as he now needed to consider all possible ways of tracking someone… he needed a way to mask or disguise her, thus rendering her completely untraceable by magic.

A soft noise came from the bed, and he turned to look at her. She was still sleeping, seemingly untroubled, and he caught himself smiling. 

As he looked at her, a thought entered his mind; how had she managed to stay alive? Wandless against an armed opponent was a challenging position. Through his work, Harry was trained in just such combat and succeeding was often more luck than skill for him. A wand made a huge difference in battle, as there were so many different spells one could use to subdue an opponent. It was basic knowledge for Aurors to cast a simple Stunning Spell to defeat criminals, as that way the Auror had time to call in backup or to bring the criminal to the holding facilities at the Ministry. 

She had been so focussed on getting away that she had accidentally run into traffic. The van hitting her might have been what saved her life! As she was surrounded by Muggles trying to help her, she had probably been too great and visible a target for a wizard, who, according to the evidence, wanted to keep this out of the Aurors’ hands. Why else would a wizard attack a witch in Muggle London, chase her on foot, and only use magic when away from Muggles? Whoever the assailant was, they didn’t want this to be traced back to them. 

But to determine who was behind it, he needed to figure out why Hermione would be a target for anyone, and that required knowing more about her life and the years he had missed. 

…

Harry was staring at the letter in front of him. His owl had just returned with it, but it was not a reply from Cho as he had first thought, instead it was the letter he had sent to Cho days earlier, yet for some reason, the owl could not deliver it. 

He knew it was possible to make oneself untraceable like he would do with Hermione when she woke, but otherwise, he didn’t know much about the magic owls used to trace the recipients. When Sirius had been on the run, Hedwig had found him easily, while all other owls could not. 

How about house-elves? Did their ability to locate someone vary from owls enough that they might succeed where an owl did not? Nothing for it but trying.

“Kreacher!” Harry called loudly, waiting for the house-elf. 

These days Kreacher spent most of his time at Hogwarts with the other elves but would come to Harry when needed, and also once a week to clean Grimmauld Place. It was embarrassing but true that Harry didn’t want to clean and Kreacher seemed to enjoy being in charge of Grimmauld Place while also being in charge of the elves at Hogwarts. 

With a faint pop, Kreacher apparated into existence next to Harry. “Master called?” 

“Yes, Kreacher,” Harry replied, smiling at the elf. “I’m trying to find a witch called Cho Chang, but I’m having no luck with the owls—” 

“Nasty, stupid owls, they know nothing,” Kreacher said, vehemently. “Kreacher will help Master. Kreacher finds Chang. ”

“Thank you,” Harry replied, smiling. It was incredible how much the years had changed Kreacher; he looked younger and prouder than he had when Harry first met him during the war. He stood straighter, his eyes shone with a new brightness, and his uniform was impeccably clean. 

Kreacher apparated away, but shortly after a loud crack signalled his quick return.

“Kreacher cannot find Chang. Most wizard-magic cannot hide Chang from Kreacher, but still, Kreacher cannot find Chang.”

“Could she be dead?” Harry asked as the thought occurred to him. 

However, if Cho was dead, wouldn’t he somehow have known about it?  _ Like you heard about Hermione being injured? _ He scoffed. If it was the same attacker, as had assaulted Hermione, then would Cho’s death even reach the Aurors, and would the Muggle police be able to discover it was murder? There were so many spells that could cause death while not looking criminal at all. 

“Kreacher can find the dead, but Kreacher cannot find Chang. No trace of Chang. Master certain the name is right? Cho Chang does not exist.”

Frustrated Harry dismissed Kreacher. If Cho was not dead, then he needed to find her, but how could he succeed where owls and house-elves failed? He needed to know more about her to be able to determine what connected Hermione and Cho. What he needed was Cho’s magical records and possibly a warrant to search her place for clues, but since she was not the primary victim in the case, he needed Robards’ approval. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for all the nice comments. I really appreciate all the love and I hope you'll enjoy the story as the mystery deepens. 
> 
> Perhaps I should have mentioned this earlier and not just here in Chapter 5, but I've finished writing the story and I'm going to keep posting as often as I can manage until we finish. The story has 16 chapter and an epilogue.

While Harry waited for Robards to get back to him with Cho’s magical records, he decided to visit the address listed in Hermione’s emergency contact record. That was why he found himself walking down a street lined on one side by a row of terraced houses laid out in the form of a crescent. He might not know much about house prices in Muggle London, but even he knew this area had to be very expensive, so why was Cho Chang living here? She was not from an incredibly wealthy family. 

He neared the residence of Cho Chang as it was registered three years ago when the emergency contact was updated last. Unfortunately, the emergency contact information did not magically update when changes occurred. It had to be manually updated, so if Cho had moved within the last three years, he would not know until he saw her magical records. 

Part of Harry didn’t expect Cho to be innocent in the attack on Hermione, simply because she now had so much power over Hermione’s life as her emergency contact. Then on the other hand if Cho wanted to make use of that power, why was she not here? Was she waiting for something else to occur, or was she in fact, innocent?

Assuming the worst, that Cho was behind the attack on Hermione, Harry still needed to talk to her, so he approached the house with caution, his wand drawn but hidden in his sleeve. From the outside, nothing looked out of the way, so he walked to the front door and knocked. 

When no one answered, he knocked harder. Still, there was no answer. 

After glancing about him to determine the street was mostly empty, he tried the door handle but found the door locked. He felt the light brush of magic sweep over him. Protective charms, he reasoned. Drawing his wand, he tested the charms and discovered the Intruder Charm quickly. That one was very interesting, as it was only cast on a home when you were not there because it would sound an alarm when something larger than a cat moved inside its barrier. That it was active indicated Cho had left the house and not in a hurry.

He got down on one knee and pushed open the letterbox, listening for sounds from inside the house, but as expected, everything was quiet. Looking through the letterbox, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. However, there was something on the floor that caught his attention. Trying to get a better view, he was able to make out the corners of a few white envelopes. With a muttered, “Accio”, he grabbed one of the letters. The post stamp indicated it was posted at the end of August, and he realised Cho had not been home in a long time. 

Still, he did not know whether it was a sign of a witch guilty of trying to murder her friend or the sign of someone subjected to crime herself. 

Now that he was here, he would like to take a look inside her house for clues, but he still had not heard back from Robards, and he did not have a warrant to enter. 

There was one other location he would like to enter; Hermione’s flat, but he still needed a warrant for that… or did he? Maybe he could convince Hermione to let him in. That would not be illegal, and it would provide an easy way around her protective charms if she had any. The idea made him smile, but just as suddenly the smile disappeared as he realised it meant he had to take her outside of Grimmauld Place, take her outside where a murderer might be waiting for her. 

However, looking for clues in her flat could prove exceedingly significant to solve this case. But he couldn’t place her in that kind of danger! On the other hand, he would be there, keeping her safe. Perhaps, it would not be too dangerous? As he made his way back to Grimmauld Place, he still struggled with the idea, but he knew the information from her flat might prove very important, and he didn’t have much else to go on. 

Entering Grimmauld Place, he searched for her, finding her easily in the first place he looked, the library. She was sitting in an armchair with her feet drawn up underneath her. In her lap was probably the thickest book he had ever seen, and she had a stack of books stabled on a table beside her within easy reach from her position. Hermione surrounded by books was not a new sight to him, but today she looked different, so lovely, so loveable.

Loveable? Where had that come from? He shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like that about Hermione. But she looked different, didn’t see? No, it was the way he was looking at her that had changed. 

Realising what was happening, he sucked in air quickly, deeply. Oh Merlin! All those buried feelings for Hermione were trying to surface once again. He could not allow that!

She looked up with a smile as he approached. “I know this book!” 

“What?” he asked, having not heard a word she said. After all these years, the walls he had erected around his heart to keep emotions locked away, where they couldn’t hurt him, were crumbling, opening his heart to feelings that should better stay locked away. 

Damn, but he was in as much danger as he was six years ago of falling in love with her, but he also knew perfectly well it would only lead to more pain if he ever did anything about it. For all he knew she lived an utterly perfect life now with no place for Harry or his extremely inconvenient and misplaced feelings.

“When I saw it in the bookcase, I felt I could almost recognise it, and now I know I’ve read it before. It’s like I know what the page will say before I read it,” she explained, smiling of genuine happiness. 

She was a siren, making his feet move forward without any conscious planning on his part. “Hmm?” His eyes were riveted to her face and her bright smile, but again, he had no idea what she had said. Something about books. Probably. How could he focus on her words when she looked like that?

No! He could not allow himself to fall in love with her again. He would not be that stupid a second time. He had to quell all those unwelcome feelings once and for all!

It sounded simple, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that it would not pose a problem. He was in control of himself and his emotions, so he simply would not let himself fall in love. It was that simple. It had to be that simple. 

Anything else would be catastrophic. 

With a groan, he buried his feelings even deeper than before, locked them away out of reach.

“What is wrong?” she asked. Her smile faded as she realised he was not paying attention. 

“You look lovely,” he replied honestly without thinking, practically whispering the words. 

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she opened her mouth, but no words came out. 

Dammit! What had he just told himself? He had to bury thoughts like that. As he tried to find a way to cover for his unplanned comment, he could think of nothing. Instead, he fell back on the safe option. “You said something about books?”

Her smile turned sympathetic, but that almost felt worse to Harry. He needed to change the conversation. Why was it he needed to talk with her anyway? Something about her glowing as she was reading—

No!

Ah, yes, breaking into Hermione’s flat. That was it.

“Let’s go to your flat,” he suggested before he forgot his mission again. “You can pick up some of your clothes and personal belongings.”

“These aren’t my clothes?” she asked, looking down at herself. She wore jeans and a sweater, which fitted her well, but which clearly were not female clothes. “Where did they come from?”

“I transfigured some of my clothes to fit you for now.”

“Oh.” She looked endearing as she frowned and touched the sweater as if expecting it to disappear. “It might be nice with my own clothes then so that you can have these back. Are we going now?” she asked, and he nodded. 

She rose from the chair and carefully placed the book in her vacated seat, and then she looked expectantly at Harry. 

Just then, a thought occurred to him; perhaps there was a way to make the trip safer. “Do you know Muggle self-defence?”

“No.” She shook her head, her eyes appearing large. 

“Then I want to teach you a few Muggle techniques to protect yourself as you cannot use a wand right now.”

“Ehm… Alright?” She spoke slowly, clearly confused. 

“Come on. The library is too small to create a good practice area,” he said as he led her to the living room. 

Taking out his wand, he cast a few spells to move the furniture out of the way, so there could be a clear area where they could practice. Then he cast a cushioning charm on the floor, and they both moved to the middle of the clearing and stood facing each other. 

“Ready?” he asked, and she nodded. 

“Though I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing.” She waved her hands about her. 

“Turn around and face away from me.” 

She did as requested, and he walked up behind her, standing very close to her back. 

“If someone grabs you from behind like this.” He put his arm gently around her throat, making sure there was no real danger, and his other arm he placed around her torso, holding both her arms close to her body. “What would you do?”

For a moment, she stood still, contemplating the question. “I would try to break free.” 

“How?”

Instead of replying, she started to squirm in his arms, and she was actually able to break his light hold on her. 

“Good,” he said, grinning, “but let’s assume my grip was stronger, like this.” He took a small step closer, their bodies touching, and his hold around her torso pinned her arms more firmly, while his grip around her throat was still somewhat weak. “Now, what would you do?”

In this close proximity, he could detect the smell of her hair; woody scent with an undertone of citrus. Cedarwood. It was his shampoo, and he had used it for years, but the smell was entirely new to him when it was on her. 

Before he could consider the implications of why he enjoyed the smell of his shampoo on her, she twisted her body again. Because his grip on her torso was stronger, she could not break his hold that easily. However, her fidgeting had an unforeseen consequence. 

With their proximity, he could feel her movement throughout his entire body, and he felt himself get aroused. 

_Not appropriate, Harry! This is not allowed to happen._ Why was he unable to hide his attraction to her? It really shouldn’t be all that difficult to push his emotions away. Oh Merlin, this was the worst possible time to discover he was wrong. 

Taking a small step backwards, to put some distance between their bodies, he ordered her to, “Stop squirming.” 

She stopped, but he had no idea what to do next. If he let go, she would ask what was wrong, she might even turn around, and he couldn’t let her see him like this. She would be horrified if she realised he lusted after her, but how could he hide it with her pressed so close to his body? 

_Damn_ , he thought and stepped a little further back. With his upper body pressed firmly against her back, his arms around her, and his lower body as far away from her as possible, he had to look very stupid. 

He felt stupid. 

Trying to think of something quickly to divert her attention, he found himself saying, “Instead of squirming, you should… eh.” He had no idea what he was blabbering, but he needed to keep her attention far from _that_ body part which was trying to destroy his composure. 

“What?” she asked. 

How was she able to remain so calm and poised, while he was practically burning up, his self-control slipping? He sighed deeply, trying to reclaim control of the situation. 

“Think of what part of my anatomy might be most weak to attacks.” But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realised his mistake. The body part most weak to attacks was not the one he wanted her to focus on, so instead, he quickly yelped, “My face!” Was it just him or did his voice sound strange, almost stained?

“Your face?” she asked, doubt evident in her voice. 

“Yes!” he squawked. “My face is a good target, excellent really. If you slam your head backwards, you can break this type of hold easily.”

“Like this?” she asked, as she slowly swung her head backwards. 

“Yes!” 

This was much safer for them to focus on. He just had to make sure her focus was far, far away from _that_ part of his body. At the same time, he thought of cold showers. 

“Just like this?” she asked. Her voice sounded dubious, as she showed the movement again. “I wish I’d know this back then when… you know.”

 _Back when someone tried to kill you_ , his mind supplied. That was the reason why they were practising now, to protect her, to keep her safe. If he could not focus on such a simple task, she would be the one to suffer, she would die.

Thoughts of Hermione dying was finally able to cool his ardour enough for him to focus on what she was doing, and he found her method not quite right. 

“Start with your head down, chin to your chest. Yes, like that. Now clench your teeth and keep your mouth closed, you want to protect your teeth and not risk biting your tongue. Then you just slam your head back, one quick movement.”

“Alright,” she replied and followed his instructions though still in slow motion. “Do I aim for anything special?”

“A hit anywhere in the face will cause a lot of pain, so no need to spend time considering aim. Just jerk your head back fast and hard. Again.”

She lowered her head to her chest once more and gently whipped her head back. “Like that?”

“Exactly, just remember to use all your might,” he replied, smiling. She had learned quickly and done exceptionally well in a short time. “Now if that had been a proper attack, you would have broken my teeth. In that case, most assailants will release you and grab their bleeding face. Now, I’ve let go.” He dropped his arms from around her and stepped further back. “What do you do now?”

“Turn around and kick you in the groin?” 

He gulped, and tried to laugh his panic off; even with his emotions somewhat under control that was still the wrong body part to focus on! “Bloodthirsty, aren’t you? But before you do that, let’s consider other options.”

“What else is there?” 

In his agitated state, he could hardly think straight. This whole session was proving more difficult than he had imagined. _Deep breaths!_

“Well, consider this; is it better for you to run away or stay and fight?”

“Stay and fight,” she answered immediately, no hesitation in her voice. 

She had grown up during a war, and the belief that the only option was to fight was so integrated into her that even now with her memories gone, she still fell back on that belief. It was heart-wrenching to consider, but at the same time, he acknowledged he was precisely the same. They had been targets during the war, and if they didn’t fight, they would have been hunted down. But the war was over. They didn’t need to live their lives like that anymore. 

“It depends on the person who attacked you. Can you take him out or will he immediately capture you again once he’s found his bearings? If the latter run away as quickly as you can. If the former, you might have a chance if you stay.”

“If I stay, what should I do?” 

“Generally, your best bet would be to get all up in their personal space. Wizards depend too much on their wands and are used to fighting at a distance. You would probably be able to catch the wizard by surprise if you can get physical attacks in; scratch their face, break their nose, or even kick them in the groin.” 

She looked at her nails and grinned. “I think kicking and scratching comes naturally to me, but how do I break his nose?”

“You strike quickly with the heel of your palm.” At her look of confusion, he elaborated, “The heel of your palm is a safer technique than striking with your fists. Less risk of breaking your bones.” 

“So what do I do?”

“First step is getting your palms up in front of your face,” and he showed her the stance. “This way, you are also protected. So when you strike, keep your hand slightly bent backwards so you can strike with the heel easily. While you rotate your hips, strike your palm out in a straight line; it gives more power to your strike. Try it.” 

She stood facing him and put her palms up in front of her face. 

“Now rotate your hip to push yourself forward while you also strike with your palm.” He showed her the motion again, and she replicated his movement in slow motion; rotating her hip, while her right hand struck out fast. 

“Excellent,” he grinned. “Try to keep your hand and elbow aligned, but that was an excellent first try.”

“I wish I had known this before,” she said, her eyes hardening. “I ran away, but he was still trying to capture me, and he would have succeeded.” 

“You are up against bad odds when you face someone who has a wand, and you don’t,” he answered honestly. “Even with these techniques, you might not succeed. You did the best you could in a terrible situation.”

She nodded, but her posture was telling him she did not believe him. 

“Hermione, look at me,” he said gently, and she raised her eyes to his. “You did great. It was an impossible situation.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t sound wholly convinced, and it broke his heart that she didn’t think she had done well, when in fact she had managed to stay alive in a situation that would surely have been the death of others. 

“Listen to me; you did amazingly,” he said. The smile she sent him was faint but full of gratitude and something more, something much more precious that he had trouble identifying but which went straight to his heart.

...

When Harry was confident enough in Hermione’s abilities to defend herself, he apparated them to her flat. With Hermione by his side, they were able to get through her protective charms quickly. It was fascinating how well magic performed; the charms recognised her, her magical core, though she had no idea who she was. 

“I don’t understand; If I live here, why can’t I stay here?” she asked, as she pushed open the door. So far, nothing looked out of place, everything neat and clean, but Harry still had his wand drawn.

“We don’t know if you would be safe here,” he replied. At first, he had wanted to keep her at Grimmauld Place to keep an eye on her recovery, but now he wanted her there to keep her safe. 

Harry moved further into the flat but saw no signs of a break-in, and he relaxed. Not enough to put away the wand though. No need to be stupid.

“I don’t recognise anything,” Hermione said, as she followed him to the living room. 

“Do you mind waiting here while I check the rest of the flat?” If dangers were lurking, he didn’t want her near. He checked the kitchen, but nothing was out of the ordinary. The bathroom was the same, but in the bedroom, something caught his eye. On the bed was a weekend-bag, open and half-packed with clothes and toiletries.

It appeared that Hermione had been planning to go somewhere for a short trip, but where? Glancing around the room, he noticed a note on the bedside table, so he picked it up and read, 

_  
__Hermione,_

_I’ve arrived at the cottage, and it is much bigger than I thought. When he said ‘cottage’, I assumed it actually was a cottage. There’s even a swimming pool! Can’t wait to show you._

_I’ve included a Portkey with this letter, and it activates tomorrow at 4 pm._

_Love, Cho_ _  
  
_

As he could not locate any Portkeys, it must have left without Hermione. The note was not dated but assuming Hermione had been packing the bag to go to Cho; then something had kept her from using the Portkey. Most likely it was the attack, which had kept her from going and that indicated someone had lured her outside while she was packing, meaning she had not been a random victim; someone had targeted her. From what Hermione recalled from her memory, it had seemed likely, but this confirmed it. The attack was not a case of wrong place, wrong time. It had been deliberate.

That also meant that Cho’s letter was close to three weeks old, so why had she not come to check up on Hermione? Whatever cottage she was in, it was still just a simple apparition away. 

Grabbing the bag, he walked back to the living room and found Hermione standing next to a bookcase. He walked up behind her to see what had caught her attention. On one of the shelves a few framed pictures stood; an old photo of her parents, a photo of Hermione, Ron, and himself during their first year at Hogwarts, and finally a recent photo of Hermione and Cho, sitting on a picnic blanket waving at the camera. No, only Hermione was waving at the camera, Cho was blowing kisses. 

“Who are these people?” she asked, her voice sounding strained. 

Harry explained the photos, and Hermione decided to take them with her, as they were important to her though she could not remember the people. As she picked up the photos, Harry noticed she was holding something in her hand. 

“What’s that?”

“Oh, it was in the letter cage on the door,” she replied, waving a letter.

“May I see it?” he asked, and she nodded, handing it over. 

_  
__Hermione, where are you? I’ve been trying to send you owls for days since you didn’t show up with the Portkey. All my owls are returned as if it’s impossible to deliver letters to you. You’ve left me no alternative than to send this Muggle letter to you._

_I’m afraid something has happened to you. And neither of the boys are receiving my owls either. What is going on? I am terrified of what is happening back in London, why are you all suddenly not responding to me?_

_If you, for some reason, read this letter, please, come to the cottage. You know I can’t travel currently._

_I’m terrified._

_Cho_   
  


It appeared owls had been unable to reach Hermione at the hospital and there could probably have been a multitude of reasons like Hermione in an unfit state to receive letters, or the owls being unable to enter her room. It didn’t seem important, so Harry focussed on the ‘the boys’ mentioned in the letter. Who were they and why did they not receive Cho’s owls either? Could they have been in a similar situation as Hermione, if so that indicated someone was targeting these people specifically, and then Cho might be in danger too?

If only Harry could figure this out, but it seemed the more he discovered, the greater the mystery became.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas :)

“Can’t we go outside?” Hermione asked as she and Harry sat together in the kitchen lingering over breakfast. It was a simple meal with just toast and juice, as she had burnt both the bacon and the eggs. The half-baked tomatoes could possibly be eaten, but they didn’t look quite right, so she had decided not to offer them to Harry, and he seemed content enough with just the toast and juice. 

Harry looked up from buttering his toast with an apologetic look in his eyes. “But it’s not safe for you outside.”

“Nothing happened when we went to my flat,” she reasoned. 

It wasn’t that she was not grateful to Harry for everything he had done for her, but even with the excellent library, she was getting restless having to stay inside all the time. And wasn’t fresh air necessary?

He turned to look at the clock on the wall, noting the time. “I really should get to the Ministry.”

“Can’t you go tomorrow instead?” she asked, sipping her juice while she tried to think of arguments which might persuade Harry to change his mind.

“I could,” he assented though he dragged the words out as he considered her suggestion. His resolve was wavering, but as he had not agreed yet, she thought it was a good idea to conceal the smile that was tugging at her lips. “If I agree to this mad stunt, you must promise to follow my orders.”

She nodded her agreement, but then quickly added, “Within reason, of course.”

His eyes narrowed, looking like he was about to argue, but instead just sighed, and continued as if she had not said anything at all, “You also need to carry a Portkey and use it at the first sign of danger.”

She nodded and readily agreed with an “Alright.” 

He was visibly surprised by her enthusiastic consent and seemed to search her eyes for signs of deception, but he would find nothing but sincerity. Truthfully, she had no problem with carrying a Portkey as much as she had with promising to follow his every command. 

“So where were you thinking of going?”

“No place in particular,” she admitted. “I just want us to spend a day outside without worrying about all of _this_.” She waved her hands around, trying to indicate everything that had happened since discovering someone wanted her dead.

“We can’t completely forget,” he warned, “but we might be able to lessen the threat if we stick to someplace Muggle.”

She looked at him, trying to gauge his meaning, and he seemed to be studying her just as carefully. 

After a few moments, he sighed. “Alright, let’s do it.” He sounded both reluctant and determined, but he had agreed, and that was the crucial part. 

Hardly able to control her excitement, she felt her grin grow wider and wider, but surprisingly, Harry momentarily froze and just stared at her, which caused her smile to fade. There was something about the way he looked at her, but she couldn’t quite say what it was. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Hmm?” he replied, seemingly lost in thought, but then he blinked rapidly. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong. Okay, so let me consider the options. We want to stay away from magical areas, as there is a higher risk of running into your assailant there. We’ll stick to someplace Muggle but where?” 

“I remember going to London Zoo with my parents when I was young, so we could try that?” she suggested.

He contemplated her idea for a while but didn’t seem keen on the suggestion. She couldn’t think of any other place, but apparently, he could, as he smiled and said, “I have it… Kings Cross Station.”

“A station?” she asked, completely taken aback and the smile froze on her lips. She couldn’t believe he meant to take her to a railway station. “With trains?”

He let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, you should see your face!”

“Are you seriously suggesting going to a train station?” She was still not entirely certain he was sincere. 

“I’m perfectly serious,” he replied, still smiling. “It’s a great idea if I may say so myself. Kings Cross Station is where the Hogwarts Express left from every year, so I know you’ve been there at least twice a year for seven years, so it might trigger your memories. It also has the added benefit of being extremely crowded, so we can easily blend in, and to top it off, we can walk there in fifteen minutes.”

“You are serious.” Yet she was not convinced by his plan. A train station, really? How could he think that was a good idea? But whatever else it might be, it was still an opportunity to go outside together. 

“I really like this idea,” he replied, “and on the way back, we can go to Regent’s Canal, as it’s just north of the station.”

His excitement and eagerness were contagious, so she finally agreed to the scheme. If she was truthful, the train station sounded pretty dull, but the canal sounded fantastic. Or maybe it was the fact that she’d be outside with Harry that sounded fantastic?

He was the best person she knew. Not that that meant much since he was also the only person she knew, but Harry _was_ extraordinary. His kindness, his compassion, his empathy, his laughter, the way his eyes seemed to smile when she caught him looking at her, and even his stupid inability to let her do anything by herself was part of what she loved about him—

Wait. 

Loved? She didn’t love him… did she? 

She coughed on her juice as her body seemed to completely forget the fact that juice was _not_ supposed to be breathed in. It took her a few tries to get her breathing under control again.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice strained with concern.

“Fine. I’m fine,” she replied quickly, too quickly as his eyes narrowed at her. 

“You have this strange expression on your face,” he said, as he kept scrutinising her. 

She probably did have a strange expression, but could anyone blame her? She had just come to the startling discovery that she _might_ be in love with her only friend. No, this could not be happening. She would not let it happen. He was her friend and friends did not go around thinking _that_ about each other. 

But still, she could not keep the thought from her mind. She groaned and placed her head in her hands.

“Are you sure you are alright?” he asked again, clearly worried by her odd behaviour. 

“Fine. Perfectly fine.” Was her voice higher pitched than usual? “Nothing’s wrong. When should we go?”

He hesitated, not believing her but also unsure about whether he should press her for more. In the end, he just said, “I need half an hour to make a Portkey.”

“I’m ready whenever you are.” Her answer was automatic, as she was trying to focus her mind on their outing and not her inconvenient and awkward feelings, but she was succeeding miserably. 

He grinned as he looked at her. “You don’t want to change first?”

Looking down at herself, she noticed she was still wearing her pyjamas, and she felt her face flush. “Right, yes. Good call. I should change. I’ll do that now.”

Why was she suddenly unable to speak cohesively today? If she kept this up, he was bound to realise something was wrong, so she fled from the kitchen, seeking the privacy of her room. She needed to regain her control and balance because right now, her emotions were all over the place, and she was unable to figure out how to bury them. Her mind just kept focussing on, _I’m in love with Harry._

In her bedroom, she paced for a few minutes, slowly regaining her composure. Getting control over her wayward emotions was imperative; she would not let them beset her. She could not allow it! She was not in love with Harry. No.

Once she felt more like herself again, she was able to focus on her next task; getting dressed. But what should she wear? Perhaps if she wore a dress then Harry—

“Stop it, Hermione,” she chided herself. “You are acting like a ninny.”

...

By the time she went downstairs, she was feeling in control of herself again, and she was wearing ordinary clothes, jeans and a sweater, but if she had spent a little more time on styling her hair to look better, who would ever know?

Harry was standing in the foyer, waiting for her. He looked up with a smile as she approached, and her breath caught at the sight of him. _Stop it, Hermione!_ Taking a calming breath, she proceeded down the stairs with a bright, and she hoped, innocent smile. 

When she neared him, he held out a ring on a chain to her. “This is the Portkey; wear it like a necklace around your neck and under your clothes. In case of emergency, activate it by using the activation phrase, which—” he cut himself off abruptly.

“What is the activation phrase?” she asked, taking the necklace from him. 

“Ah, I didn’t think this through,” he replied with a wry smile. “If I say it now the Portkey will activate. Okay, the phrase is two words; the first word is ‘Grimmauld’, and the final word is ‘safety’. In case of an emergency, say those words together and the Portkey will bring you here.”

She nodded; that was an easy enough phrase to remember. She could do that. 

Shortly after they left Grimmauld Place, and as soon as they were outside she linked her arm in his and took a deep breath, enjoying the sharp, crisp air as the autumn wind caressed her face. 

“This road leads all the way to Kings Cross,” he said as he led her along the busy street, full of restaurants, shops, and residential buildings. 

Looking around in wonder at the seemingly ordinary street, she asked, “Where are we? What is this area called?”

“It’s the borough of Islington, but this specific part is also known as Pentonville. I have no idea what Pentonville is famous for, but how much do you want to bet it’s named after some old Muggle politician?” he grinned. 

“I’m sure you are right,” she replied grinning, but it did seem like a nice neighbourhood even if it was named after some long-dead Muggle. “Have you lived here long?”

“Some years,” he replied, but didn’t his voice sound a bit strained? She turned to look at him, as he elaborated, “The house was my godfather’s, and when he died, I didn’t want to stay there. Too many memories and guilt, you know? But at some point after the war, I kind of felt more connected to him when I was there, so I ended up moving back.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, resting her head gently on his shoulder, and she felt him squeeze her arm. 

“Thank you,” he replied with a small smile. 

After a few moments, she lifted her head and looked about them. Wasn’t there something familiar about this place? She blinked, trying to grasp at the memory tugging at the edge of her mind. 

Probably the familiarity was just because Harry lived here and she had been to see him often over the years. Yes, that made sense. That must be it. But even as they continued along the road, a sense of foreboding ran through her, and she looked over her shoulder, but everything seemed quite ordinary with Muggles rushing past, so she continued onwards. 

When she stopped again to look over her shoulder, Harry asked with a look of concern, “Are you alright?”

“I’m not quite sure,” she replied in almost a whisper. “There is this sense of familiarity and foreboding that I can’t place.”

With his free hand, Harry touched her hand, which was now clinging to his arm, gently running his fingers over hers in a reassuring stroke. “Maybe you are remembering something,” he suggested mildly. 

“Yes, maybe,” she agreed without even paying attention to what she said because something was wrong. Very wrong. “This isn’t right…” she muttered, again she looked around her, and again everything looked normal. 

Suddenly, she froze as an echo of a memory washed over her… _Running in the rain…_

She felt herself look up as if searching for something in the distance, but there was only the top of the red clocktower of the St Pancras Chambers. Her heart began to beat faster. She was—

_Fleeing. Being chased._

Her breath caught, and she couldn’t breathe. _The wizard… behind her._

She swung around, almost losing her footing, but couldn’t see the wizard. _A spell coming for her._ Panic spread in her body as she spun around, trying to locate the wizard. He would kill her. She had to escape! 

She couldn’t breathe. 

“Hermione!”

That voice! She knew that voice; it was the voice of safety and protection. Slowly, her breathing returned to her, and as she blinked away the tears in her eyes, she saw she was in Harry’s arms. 

“Harry?”

“I’m here. I’m here,” he replied, his voice hardly above a whisper, but she heard him. “You are safe.”

She nodded. She knew she was safe; she was held securely in Harry’s embrace, and there was no place safer in the world. “It was here…,” she told him, her voice cracking. “The nightmare… The wizard, the van. It was here.” She could feel the tears making her eyes water, and she held on to Harry. 

He froze and then looked around them. “Oh Merlin, I hadn’t realised…” He hugged her closer as if that could protect her from reliving the memory. 

The memory had slowly faded to a collection of blurry images, but now it stood out to her crystal clear, and the fear came back to haunt her. She pressed herself closer to Harry but even as she sought the comfort of his embrace, part of her also wanted to remember more. She would not let the memory of that frightful night rule her life or force her into hiding. She would fight it.

Perhaps she could force more memories of that night if she was able to retrace her steps, and maybe that would provide new information.

With a deep breath, she pushed the emotions to the back of her mind, as she pulled back and looked around them. There was something recognisable about that building! “I came from over here,” she said as she walked back the way they had come, keeping her eyes on any familiar sights. 

Her steps were long and fast, almost a run, as she rushed forwards. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Harry following her, and she was happy to notice he didn’t try to stop her. He must be as concerned about her memories as she was. 

At a small intersection, she stopped, looked up and down all the roads until she felt certain which way she had come. 

“Up there.” She pointed to the left. 

“Calshot St,” Harry read on the street sign. “I do believe that was also what the Police report said.”

She might have decided to face her demons head-on, but not knowing what they would find at the end of the road had her feeling apprehensive.

“We can turn back—”

“No, I…” she began, not sure how to explain the jumbled feelings in her chest. 

He acknowledged her by nodding his head. “Alright, let’s go. I have my wand ready, and you are ready with the Portkey just in case?”

“Yes.”

With a deep breath, she linked her arm with his, finding comfort in his presence. Could she do this without his support and physical closeness? She didn’t think so.

In a slightly less madding pace, they followed Calshot St further and further north. She made sure to look down all the side streets, searching for familiar buildings. After about ten minutes the road they walked merged with another larger road, but still, onwards they went. She couldn’t help wondering what she would find. And she was certain she would find something. With every step she looked about her, recognising the street and the buildings. She had been there before. This was the way she had been running that night. 

Once the road crossed a small canal, she stopped, frowning. Water? She turned to face the canal from the bridge. The water was important… wasn’t it? If only her mind were not so chaotic, if only she could remember more!

“I think…” She frowned as she kept looking at the water. “I think I was down there somewhere.” 

He stood beside her, seeing what she was looking at. “There’s a path down to the towpath just a little further ahead, if you want to…”

She nodded and followed him as he guided her. This area was important; she could feel it in her bones. A memory just out of her reach. Focussing her mind, she tried to call it forth. She was meeting someone; she was meeting… 

_She was meeting B—_

B, but who was B? And why was she meeting someone here? She had received something, something which led her here. _A note!_ She had received a message from B to come here, but then B didn’t show. What else? She didn’t know, she couldn’t remember! Argh, it was so frustrating!

She turned to Harry to share the few titbits she had recalled. “I was meeting someone here.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure, but I seem to recall their name started with B, or maybe it was their nickname.”

“Male, female? Do you know,” he asked. 

“I can’t remember,” she admitted, feeling frustrated with herself and the memories refusing to come back to her. “There was a note from someone called B requesting a meeting here.”


	7. Chapter 7

There was one avenue in Hermione’s magical records Harry had not yet pursued; her work. Her records indicated she worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the Spirit Division, so he made his way there to speak with Mr Thaddeus Thurkell, the Head of the Spirit Division.

“Mr Thurkell,” Harry said, knocking on the open door to the Head’s office, calling the attention of the elderly gentleman inside.

“Yes?” The man looked up from the documents he was perusing. He reminded Harry of Dumbledore with his long white beard, but the man’s clothes were much more muted in both style and shade, a far cry from the psychedelic colours of Dumbledore’s robes. 

Reaching his hand out in greeting, Harry said with a friendly smile, “I’m Auror Potter.”

The man behind the desk looked at him with a frown and shook his hand warily. That was not the usual behaviour when Harry introduced himself, but he kept his expression friendly.

“How may I help you, Auror?” The man looked at Harry expectantly, but the way he held himself clearly showed Harry that he was anything but eager to help. 

Wondering what caused this dislike and whether it was Aurors in general or Harry in particular that led to such an unusual reaction, he pressed forward regardless and said, “I’ve received the magical records for a Miss Hermione Granger, and they indicate she works here. Can you confirm that?”

“Yes,” the man replied slowly. “However, she is on vacation, and I have no wish to disturb her.”

“But—” 

“I do not know where she is vacationing, so there’s no reason to ask me,” Mr Thurkell replied, cutting him off. 

Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had faced such hostility, but he still asked, “Do you know if Miss Granger had any enemies?”

“I know nothing of my employees’ personal life.” 

Though the man clearly tried to make Harry feel unwelcome, Harry persisted. He needed the information as Hermione’s life might depend on it. 

“Do you know if anyone from your office has been exposed to threats or violence, have gone missing or anything like that?”

“No, nothing of the sort happens here.” The man rose from the chair and pointed towards the door. “If that was all, there is the door. I’m quite busy.”

Not really knowing what else to do, Harry left the office, bewildered by Mr Thurkell’s behaviour and wondering if the attack on Hermione might have been due to her job. 

As Harry was already at the Ministry, he decided to go by the Auror Office, hoping to put in a request for the information recorded about the Spirit Division. Perhaps there was something in those files that might provide a connection to Hermione, or might prove Mr Thurkell as a liar. 

He had hardly walked into the Auror Office, before Robards called out to him, having him come into his office for a private conversation. 

“I granted your request for the files on Cho Chang,” Robards said, as Harry sat down in front of him, “but as I sent the request to Registries, they replied by informing me that those records are classified.”

“Classified?” Harry repeated, surprised. In all his years at the Auror Office, he had never heard of records being classified. “How can that be?”

“Only high ranking officials can classify records, but Registries would not inform me who had classified those specific records. For the time being, you need to solve your case without them.”

“They are rather important though,” Harry grumbled, realising that them being classified could be a clue in itself. If there was nothing secret in those files, there was no reason for them to be confidential, but he still had no idea what that meant for Hermione. 

“Find a way, Potter. In the meanwhile, I am trying to figure out who classified the records and why.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Now, tell me how your case is going?”

Harry opened his mouth to tell everything or almost everything. There were some things he felt he didn’t have to share with his Head of Office, like lusting after Hermione, and some things he couldn’t share. He couldn’t really share anything about Hermione as that was private, wasn’t it? 

This was the first time a case had ever blurred the lines between his work life and his private life, and he could not determine where the boundaries were anymore, so instead, he said, “I can’t seem to figure this out. I need to locate Cho to get some answers, but I can’t reach her. I’m not sure what to do next. I spoke to Mr Thurkell from the Spirit Division, that’s where Hermione works, and he acted very strangely. I should probably look more into what she has been working on. Perhaps all of this has something to do with her job.”

Robards leaned back in his chair. “Hmm.” Being unable to interpret the meaning, Harry waited for him to continue. “Is anything else pointing there?”

“No. There is nothing except Mr Thurkell’s strange behaviour.”

“What is your intuition telling you?” 

“That Mr Thurkell’s hostility had more to do with me and the Aurors in general than Hermione. Once I mentioned I was an Auror, he started to be hostile. Hermione’s name did not change his behaviour either way.”

“That sounds like someone who has had a bad history with the Aurors.”

“But then I really don’t know what to do next,” Harry admitted. “I want to request whatever information we have about the Spirit Division to see if there is anything out of the ordinary going on there.”

“Alright, I will send the request to Registries.”

“Thank you, Sir. The clues I have managed to locate are not painting a full picture, and I need something to push me in the right direction.”

Robards watched him for a few moments, and then said, “Have you considered letting the world know Miss Granger is alive and well?”

Harry snorted at the insane idea. “And paint an even bigger target on her back?” 

His refusal did not seem to deter Robards. “If she appears in public at a large event, we can see who interacts with her, who looks threatened by her presence, and hopefully who is wanting her dead.”

Harry shook his head; it was a horrible idea to place Hermione in that kind of danger. “No, we could never protect her well enough at such an event. We would need Aurors at every door...”

“And along every wall. We’ll have every Auror there, alert and armed.”

“How?” Harry eyed his Head with disbelief. No such event existed.

Robards smile grew, and he said firmly, “The Ministry’s Autumn Ball on Saturday.”

...

When Kingsley Shakelbolt was elected Minister, he had introduced more social events for the ministry employees in an attempt to promote inter-departmental cooperation, and one of those events was the Ministry’s Autumn Ball. Everyone who was anyone in the Ministry would be at the ball, and if you wanted to show Hermione off to as many people as possible in a somewhat safe setting, this was it. 

Theoretically, Harry understood that, but he disapproved of putting Hermione’s life in danger in that way. It was too uncertain even with Aurors standing guard, but when Harry presented Robards’ idea to Hermione, she had been all for it. She wanted to do it. She was so strong, and he admired that about her. 

That was why Harry found himself standing outside the Ministry’s auditorium, where the ball would be held, holding Hermione’s hand in a tight grasp, while she drew deep, steadying breaths. Her head was slightly bent forward, and her hair fell so he could not see her face. She muttered something under her breath that he could not hear.

“What was that?” he asked in a whisper, leaning closer to her. 

“I was just telling myself to relax.”

“Did it work?”

She turned towards him with a wry smile, but he could clearly see her nervousness. “No, but I’m as ready as I’m ever going to get.”

“We can turn around and go home.”

“No, I have to do this. I want to do this.”

“Why?”

She looked as if surprised by his question. “This will never be over until they catch that wizard. I can’t live my life hiding away at Grimmauld Place forever.”

He sighed. If she were brave enough to possibly face her assailant, then he would be brave enough to let her do it though he hated it. He would be right next to her to be able to help her, should she need it. 

Gently, she removed her hand from Harry’s grasp and placed it in the crook of his arm. She smiled at him and said, in a slightly trembling voice, “Shall we?”

The doors opened before them and they stepped forward into the crowded auditorium. He felt her fingers dig into his arm in an obvious sign of uneasiness. 

He bent his head slightly towards her to hear her whisper, “So many people are staring… I don’t like it.”

She was absolutely correct. Almost immediately they attracted the attention of the groups of people standing nearest. Muffled voices followed them as they moved further into the auditorium. Harry quickly swept his gaze over the crowd; no one cast looks of animosity at Hermione. 

“Of course they are staring, you look gorgeous tonight,” he murmured. She looked breathtakingly beautiful in her long dress.

“Oh!” Flustered, she looked down trying to hide the blush, but she quickly lifted her gaze to his. “Really, I’m not—” she stopped abruptly, her eyes having caught something over Harry’s shoulder. 

He turned to see what had caught her attention and noticed a man approach them. With a smile, he faced their visitor. “Robards,” he said, greeting his Head of Office.

Hermione looked from Harry to Robards and seemed to relax. Her grip on his arm slacked just a bit.

“Miss Granger, a great pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Robards said, bowing lightly to her.

“The pleasure is mine,” she replied automatically, but then added, “Have we met before?”

“To my great regret, no we have not,” Robards replied with a wink, which made Hermione blush, Harry noticed with a stab of jealousy. And then Harry felt horrible for being jealous of his Head, who had not only been his mentor but was also one of the few people Harry trusted implicitly. 

Just as quickly, Robards was back to being the severe and fearsome Head of the Auror Office. “We have Aurors at all exits,” Robards informed both of them before turning to face Hermione fully. “None of them knows about you or what happened to you, but they are on high alert and ready to help in case it is needed.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I must admit to feeling a bit more overwhelmed than I expected.”

“Understandable,” Robards replied, “but if we are lucky we can discover who is after you tonight and that will bring us much closer to an arrest and for you to return to your normal life.”

“That is my wish too.”

For some reason, the mention of Hermione returning to her everyday life, a life where she didn’t spend most of her time with him, brought a frown to Harry’s face. He should wish for her to return to her normal life, and then they might be able to continue being friends, but he knew that was not what he wanted. He wanted Hermione. He wanted so much more than just friendship with her. 

Robards stiffened, as he looked over Harry’s shoulder. “Potter, I’ve discovered where the order to classify those records you wanted came from.”

“Sir?” 

“But I still don’t know why, so if you will excuse me I will find out.”

As Robards walked off and left them staring after him, Harry noticed he went straight to the Minister, who stood surrounded by a group of low-level Ministry employees, hoping to get noticed by the Minister himself. 

“He seemed nice,” Hermione said, drawing Harry’s attention away from Robards and the Minister. 

“He is the best Head the Auror Office has had in a long time,” Harry replied, thinking of the times Robards had shaken up the Auror Office with his implementations of new work technique and better evidence storing. 

With a sigh, Harry thought of what they needed to do and why they were at the party. “Come,” he said. “We have to mingle and let you be ‘seen’. If your assailant is here tonight, we want to catch him, but that means moving around getting noticed and talking to people.”

…

Half an hour later, when Hermione felt more comfortable without Harry at her side, he moved away. As he watched her now, he saw she had relaxed and was smiling more freely. She was talking to an older woman whom Harry didn’t recognise, but thought might be Madam Marchbanks. Wasn’t it just like Hermione to find the woman, who was Head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority and possibly one of the cleverest witches when it came to transfiguration, only eclipsed by Professor McGonagall?

“Potter,” came Robards cold murmur from behind him. “You are an Auror, are you not?”

Harry whirled around to face his Head. “Sir?”

“You are not performing your duty,” Robards chided. “I feel I ought to inform you that Miss Granger is not the one you need to be watching. You are looking for whoever is trying to murder her, or did you forget?”

“I know what I have to do,” Harry replied. He felt his face grow warm because Robards had been entirely correct to scold him. He was not performing his duty. However much he enjoyed watching Hermione that was not why he had brought her to the ball and his inability to do his job could risk her life. 

Robards regarded him speculatively for a moment. “You are a good Auror, but tonight you are not showing it. Do I have to repeat myself?”

Harry looked at him, questioningly. “Repeat what?”

“Emotionally compromised,” Robards replied slowly, articulating his words carefully. “This case is making you act out of character. You need to focus! Pay attention. If I have to repeat myself yet again, I will take the case away from you and give it someone else. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir. I understand.” Harry wanted to argue but knew perfectly well that Robards was right. He had made more mistakes in the last few weeks working on this case than he had done in his entire Auror career. Hopefully, the mistakes were small enough not to matter. It just seemed like his feelings for Hermione clouded everything else. Where Hermione was concerned, he simply could not think clearly. “I will do better.”

Robards snorted loudly. “If you say so. Though I don’t trust your objectivity in the matter. Remember who will suffer if you get this wrong.”

Harry waited until Robards left him before he looked back at Hermione. He felt like a starving man at a feast, his eyes drawn to her like magnets. She was—

 _No, you have to get a grip! Get your head back in the game._ He took a deep breath and looked around the room, trying to discover anyone observing Hermione. He moved along the edge of the auditorium, unobserved watching the crowd, and that was when he saw Lucius Malfoy staring at Hermione from across the room. He was not a suspect or connected to the case in any way, so why was he so interested in her? 

From his current vantage point, Harry could not see Malfoy clearly, but the man’s entire body was frozen while his attention was solely on Hermione. Slowly, Harry moved towards her while he carefully observed Malfoy. When he was able to see Malfoy’s face, his expression was one of hatred and anger. 

Lucius Malfoy; he had suddenly jumped from obscurity to the top of the very short list of possible suspects. 


	8. Chapter 8

While Hermione had been mingling and talking to the other guests, she had not looked directly at Harry once, and for that, she felt proud, but she had sensed his eyes in the back of her head. Knowing he was nearby made her relax and feel safer. It was crazy, she knew that, that his mere presence could affect her so. Since she woke in the hospital, he had been there for her, and she loved him for it. She _loved_ him. Finally, having admitted it herself, it was freeing to admit her feelings even if it was only in her own mind. 

But of course, she could not tell him of her emotions at least not yet, at least not as long as she depended so much on him as she did currently. She might be able to hide her feelings, but she couldn’t suppress a hope that perhaps in time, she might make him see her as something more than just a friend. But for that wish to have any possibility of coming true, they needed to capture the wizard and solve this case. 

Catching the wizard was the primary goal. _That_ was why she was here tonight; to trap her assailant. Part of her hated being here, having to put on this show, but when Harry had mentioned the plan, she had been all for it. Only with the wizard locked away could she be free of this shadow hanging over her, and only then could she live her life again and return to some semblance of normality. Only then dared she approach Harry and see if he might return her feelings. If she approached him now and he turned her down, she didn’t know if she could remain at Grimmauld Place and be in such close proximity to him. It might make everything awkward and tense, and she couldn’t do that to him after he had done so much for her. No, she had to wait until this was over, but hopefully, soon the wizard would be caught. 

Taking a deep breath to clear her mind, she turned around, looking over the large crowd of people at the ball. An elderly gentleman caught her eye from afar, and she frowned. He was standing near the open double doors at the entrance of the auditorium. 

When their eyes met, he smiled and gestured to the door with his hand. Realising he wanted her to go with him outside the auditorium, she felt a sudden panic. Harry and Robards had both indicated the auditorium was safe, but what about the hallways? She had to ask Harry before she did anything. 

The older man was still watching her, and not knowing what else to do, she inclined her head in a slight nod and turned to look for Harry. He was very near, but his face turned away from hers. His entire focus was on another man who stood across the auditorium and was staring directly at her. 

Frowning, she looked at the man; he was middle-aged with long blond hair and dressed in dark, expensive-looking clothes. He might be called handsome was it not for the look of complete and utter hatred marking his face. At his look of animosity, a shiver went down her spine. As he noticed Hermione observing him, his expression became blank, and he turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

When the man disappeared, Harry turned towards Hermione and their eyes locked in what could only be a mutual agreement that that man was bad news. 

Harry walked a few steps towards her, and hardly before he was close enough to hear, she said, “Dance with me.”

He hesitated, his gaze locked on her, and after a few moments, he nodded. He held out his hands to her and led her to the dance floor. 

Neither of them possessed the gracefulness of the true dancing proficients, but that was not why she had asked him to dance. However, Harry did not feel comfortable on a dance floor; his eyes were looking down at their feet as if observing how their feet moved might make them better dancers. She needed to divert his attention. 

“Do you know which dance is the favourite among owls?” 

His head flew up, and he looked at her in surprise. “Owls?” he repeated.

“The hoooola.”

For a moment, he just stared at her as if she had gone crazy, but then his face brightened, and he laughed. He was a decent dancer if he just didn’t think about it. 

“Two can play this game,” he said, still grinning. “Do you know why thestrals are horrid dancers?”

“No.”

“Because they have two left feet.”

She laughed, but couldn’t help adding, “Technically, they have hoofs…” 

He looked at her and shook his head, amused. “You don’t even appreciate my attempt at humour,” he said, feigning a look of hurt feelings, but she saw through him easily, and playfully punched him in the arm. He replied by smiling brightly at her, and she could feel her heartbeat fasten. 

Slowly, his expression cleared. “I assume you have a reason for forcing us out here.” 

“I do,” she replied, “but first, who was that man you were staring at before?”

“Lucius Malfoy. An old enemy from the war. He is also one of the richest and most influential wizards in all of Britain, which is why he is enjoying his freedom and not rotting away in Azkaban like many of the other Death Eaters.”

“Do you think he was the one who attacked me?”

Harry frowned as if thinking about it. “He was never the type of wizard to interact with Muggles, and yet your attack was in the middle of Muggle London and carried out to look very Muggle. However, is he rich enough to have someone else do it? Absolutely. I just can’t think of a reason why he would target you.” His expression suddenly froze, as an unpleasant thought occurred to him. “But he is connected to someone with a B in their name. His wife was Narcissa Black before they married.”

“Do I know her?” 

Harry frowned seemingly recalling something. “It couldn’t be her. She’s been missing for the past couple of years.”

“Missing?”

“Yes, let me see if I can recall the events of the case. She was returning home from a shopping trip but never made it all the way. At first, we thought it was a kidnapping, but no ransom note ever materialised. Lucius Malfoy was the leading suspect, but there wasn’t enough evidence, and her body was never found. We couldn’t prove that she was subjected to a crime.”

“What happened then?”

“Nothing, we don’t have the evidence to prosecute Malfoy or anyone else. It’s a cold case now,” Harry admitted. They firmly believed Malfoy was behind the disappearance of his wife, but they couldn’t prove it, and yet Robards refused to shelf the case as unsolvable. He still kept the file on his desk, whether it was as a reminder of a failure or whether he was hoping for new evidence to surface, was not clear. It was the only case where Harry had seen Robards shed his impassive mask and completely lose control, almost as if the case was somehow personal. 

“He scared me,” Hermione admitted. “Even from across the room, his eyes burned with such hatred.”

Harry stopped dancing and looked at her very seriously. “I will do everything in my power to protect you and keep you safe. I will never let Malfoy or anyone else harm even a single hair on your head.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I do feel safer with you around. I just wish I remembered something more, something that could help us figure out what is going on.”

“You heard the doctor,” he replied in a low voice. 

“I know, but it is so difficult,” she admitted. Then her eyes drifted just to the left of Harry’s head, and she noticed people were looking at them strangely. Apparently standing still in the middle of the dance floor was not usual. “I think we should start dancing again.”

He looked around them quickly and then led her into a new round of _not_ good dancing. “Now, why is it I’m out here making a fool of myself?”

“You are not making a fool of yourself,” she informed him, but he just raised his eyebrows in reply. She looked around and saw the older man still standing by the doors. “I wanted to ask you without anyone overhearing if you knew the elderly man by the door. The one with the long beard.”

As they swung around on the dance floor, Harry was able to glance at the man without it being too obvious. “Yes, I know him.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s Thaddeus Thurkell, your Head of Office. Why? Did he say anything?”

“He motioned for me to join him outside, and I don’t know if I should do it.”

“Hmm,” was all Harry said for a while. “I only met him the other day, and he seemed rude. I have never heard anything bad about him though his family has had its fair share of scandal over the years. He was on the right side during the war. If you can stay close to the auditorium, it should be fine, but fewer Aurors are patrolling the hallways than guards in here. I don’t like it, but he might have important information.” Then he was quiet for a long while before he added, “If he does anything at all out of the norm or something strange happens, you use the Portkey and get the hell out of here, alright?” She nodded. “You remember the activation phrase?”

“Yes, Grimmau—“

“Don’t say it now!” he interrupted loudly and then added more quietly. “That phrase will activate the Portkey no matter where you are, even right now.”

She blushed and muttered very quietly, “Of course. I hadn’t considered that.”

“Now if you want to do this, then I will follow you for safety, but I’ll hang back. I don’t think Mr Thurkell likes me very much.”

As they neared the door, Hermione slipped from Harry’s arms and walked determinedly out of the auditorium. She glanced at Mr Thurkell, who was still standing there and she felt rather than saw as he followed her outside. She really hoped Mr Thurkell might be able to provide some answers and that it did not turn out he was behind her attack in the first place. 

With the sounds and lights of the auditorium behind her, she walked into the dimly lit hallways and turned to face Mr Thurkell. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she suddenly imagined herself being hit with a curse. 

_Calm down_ , she ordered, and she noticed that Mr Thurkell looked more uncertain than threatening. Immediately she breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Hermione, what is going on?” he asked, taking her arm in his and walking with her a bit further away from the auditorium. They found a bench in an alcove and sat down. 

“Mr Thurkell—”

He stared at her in apparent surprise. “When did you ever call me Mr Thurkell? You know it’s Thaddeus.”

Quickly, she thought of an excuse. “Ah, yes, but this is a more formal setting than our office, so I thought it better to be more formal in my address too.”

“You might be right,” he grumbled, “but Mr Thurkell was my father. You make me feel like an old man when you call me that.”

 _But you are old_ , she almost blurted. He had to be at least ninety years old, but instead, she plastered a grin on her face, while she asked, “So Thaddeus why did you want to speak with me out here?”

“I wanted to talk to you in private, to warn you that the Aurors are looking for you,” he replied, suddenly serious.

“Yes, I know Auror Potter came to talk to you—”

He snorted loudly. “You two seemed rather close when you were dancing.”

“We are just friends,” she replied quickly, but she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

“Mm-hmm, but he was actually the third Auror to come asking questions about you since you started your vacation.”

Well, that did surprise her. As far as she knew, Harry and Robards were the only Aurors who knew about her and what had happened, so what had the others wanted with her? “Do you remember what they were asking?”

“One was looking for you as a possible witness in a case, I believe, or something with you reporting something to the Aurors. I can’t be certain anymore. It didn’t strike me as odd at the time, so I didn’t pay much attention to it. The other wouldn’t say why he needed you except that it was important Auror business, so I told him nothing at all. And then when Auror Potter showed, I knew something strange was going on, and I tried to kick him out immediately.”

“Do you remember their names?”

“No, the first said, I’m sure, but I cannot remember, and the other didn’t say. He was acting very shady.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“He must have been wearing some glamour charm because as soon as he was out of my office, I could not recall his looks at all.”

“Are you certain he was an Auror?”

“He had a badge,” Thaddeus said, uncertain, “but I suppose that could have been fake.”

“Thank you for telling me all of this.” 

As soon as she was able, she had to tell Harry everything she had learned. The shady man might not have been an Auror, but the first one probably was, and it might be interesting to find him and ask why he was looking for her.

“Now tell me, have you heard from Cho?” Thaddeus asked, his expression cleared, and his eyes started to twinkle. 

How was Cho connected to all of this? Not sure how to reply, Hermione decided to go for honesty. “No, I haven’t talked to her in a while.”

“But I thought you were going with her to Scotland,” he said, bemused. “Weren’t you supposed to go there and help her during your vacation until her husband could join her?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied, hating how automatically lying came to her, “but I was a little delayed here in London.” 

Scotland? She was supposed to be in Scotland helping Cho with what? But before she could ask, Thaddeus said, “So she hasn’t had the baby yet, I take it.”

What baby? Was Cho pregnant, and was that why Hermione was supposed to be in Scotland with her? She hesitated, not knowing what to say. In the end, she went with a safe answer. “No, not yet.”

“You will let me know when the baby arrives so the office can prepare a gift? And send our best regards to her?” he asked, his face split into a wide grin. “The office feels too quiet with both you and Cho gone.”

“Right,” she agreed with a half-smile. What had she gotten herself into?

“We better head back,” he finally said, offering her his arm. “I suppose _your_ Auror Potter might be missing you. If I’d known how close you two were, I would have been friendlier to him when he came asking questions.”

“He’s not mine,” she replied, but she could feel the heat rising to her face. He might not be hers now, but she surely hoped he might be in the future. “I think I’ll stay just a little longer.” She waved Thaddeus off as he headed back.

She just needed a moment to try and collect her thoughts. Thaddeus had given her so much information, and she could not risk forgetting anything. There was the information about the Aurors looking for her. Then Cho in Scotland _and_ having a baby. And it definitely sounded like Cho was a colleague and friend but—

“I thought he would never leave,” a voice hissed from behind her, and she felt something pointy poking painfully into her back. 

A wand. 

From her limited memory of the night of her attack, she had not considered whether she would be able to recognise the wizard if she ever came across him again. Now she knew. Truly, there was nothing special about his voice, but she knew without a doubt that it was him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like I might not have access to my computer for the next four days and I really don't know how to post from my phone, so I'm just going to post this chapter a bit earlier than I planned. I assume no one like dangling from that cliffhanger for days :P

For the rest of her life, that voice would haunt her. Hermione shivered in fear as everything around her went very quiet, except her heart, which was beating violently. She would die. With horror, she recalled how he had tried to kill her the first time. Surely, she could not hope to escape him a second time. Fear was clawing at her chest and snatching her breath away. Grabbing her heart with icy fingers, fear was trying to overwhelm her.

“You will walk with me towards the Atrium.” 

He grabbed her firmly and painfully around the neck. With his unyielding grip on her throat and the other on the wand still pressed into her back, he used his body to force her forwards. She stumbled a few steps, away from the auditorium and safety. 

“If you do anything stupid I will hex you.”

Her breath caught as despair engulfed her. She shook herself, trying to banish the overwhelming panic. How was she going to escape? She couldn’t, she was caught, and if he took her out of the Ministry, she would die. And then she would never see Harry again. 

Thoughts of Harry finally succeed in pushing the panic slightly away, and she could think more clearly. She thought of the techniques Harry had practised with her. It was her only chance.

Fighting her rising fear, she dug her heels in and stopped moving. With a deep, calming breath, she bent her head and then with all her might she slammed her head backwards. The force of the impact hurt like hell, like an explosion going off in her head. But her exclamation was nothing to the howl of agony she heard from behind her. Struggling to focus, she blinked and groaned.

Immediately, she was released. Wanting to see what her assailant looked like, she turned around to face him, but unfortunately, the part of the hallway they were in was poorly lit, casting his face mostly in shadows and his hands covered the rest. Blood was slowly seeping through his fingers. All she was able to determine was a man of average height and built. For a moment, she just stared at him and the blood too shocked to move. 

“Bitch,” he yelled, breaking her mental paralysis. 

He was reaching for his wand, which had dropped to the floor. At once, she thought to claim it before him, but the wand was much closer to him than her. She would never beat him to it, so instead, she spun around and ran down the hallway. 

Screaming as loudly as she could, hoping the Aurors were nearby, she ran towards the noise from the auditorium. “Help!”

Unfortunately, he was faster than she had expected and managed to grab her. She had to get away! Swinging around, she threw her fists at him wildly, hoping to hit him somewhere painful. Hopefully, his nose, which she was certain, was broken. 

Only when he quickly ducked and held her arms firmly but not painfully, did she manage to hear his voice over the sound of her heart pounding. “Hermione, it’s me. What happened?”

“Harry?” 

“Yes, it’s me. Are you hurt?”

“Harry!” she threw her arms around his neck, her whole body shaking from the experience. Tears were falling from her eyes, but she paid them no mind. 

She was safe. That was all that mattered. 

“What happened?” a familiar voice asked urgently. She looked up and saw Robards rushing to their side. Even as she looked, more men and women came running. Aurors, she realised. 

“There was a man before,” she muttered, her face half-hidden in Harry’s shoulder. “He attacked me.”

“Did you see what he looked like?” Harry asked, while he gently stroked her back.

Closing her eyes briefly, letting his gentle and soothing movements calm her, she said. “No, it was too dark.” Then after a moment, she added, “I think I broke his nose.”

A low chuckle from Robards startled her, and she glanced at him. “Excellent behaviour, Miss Granger.”

As she looked at the assembly, she noticed the Aurors were looking at Robards expectantly, waiting for orders. 

Robards was looking around the hallway and then yelled, “Thomas, find the wizard who attacked Miss Granger. He should bear signs of a broken nose. Take whoever you need. Scour the Ministry. No one will be allowed to leave until he is caught. The rest of you lot, back to guarding!”

“Yes, Sir,” a chorus of voices yelled. 

“He said something about the Atrium,” Hermione informed Robards, trying to be helpful. “Perhaps he is headed there?”

Robards nodded and bellowed, “Thomas, the Atrium.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She heard the sound of running feet, and in a matter of seconds, the Aurors had moved out, leaving only Hermione, Harry and Robards. 

Unsure about what to do now, she asked, “Thomas?”

“That’s Dean Thomas, one of the Aurors,” Harry answered, his voice gentle and soothing. “He’ll catch the man who attacked you. No one is faster than him.”

A thought occurred to her. “You are not going to join the chase too, are you?”

“No. Do you want me to?” But his arms didn’t release her. In fact, it seemed like he held her firmer. 

“No.” Her reply was immediate, her arms tightening around him. “Not after what _he_ did.”

“What did he do?” Robards asked, interrupting them. 

She hesitated and slowly stepped out of the safety of Harry’s embrace to face Robards. “He came up behind me and grabbed me. Said he would take me out of here, that we had to go to the Atrium. I was so scared, but then I remembered what Harry had taught me about self-defence, so I slammed my head into his face, and he released me. When I saw him reach for his wand, which had dropped to the floor by then, I knew he would hex me, so I ran away as fast as I could.”

“You did quite excellent, Miss Granger.” Robards smiled at her warmly. Then he turned and addressed Harry. “If he had to go to the Atrium, then he didn’t bring a Portkey, so we can assume he was caught off guard seeing Miss Granger here tonight.”

Harry nodded, but then his expression turned grim as he faced Hermione. “May I ask why you didn’t use _your_ Portkey when he released you?” 

Oh, the Portkey? It had not at all entered her mind during the attack. “I forgot.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he stopped himself and instead sighed. With a small shake of his head, he said gently, “You look exhausted.”

She smiled weakly at him; she was exhausted. The adrenaline that had rushed through her earlier was leaving her drained, and she just wanted to leave the Ministry. “May I go home now?”

“Yes, of course. I don’t see why not,” Robards replied quickly, but then added, “Potter, bring her to safety while we deal with the assailant. We should be able to cut him off at the Atrium.” 

…

They arrived back at Grimmauld Place, and as soon as they were safely inside, he turned to her and asked, “How are you feeling?” 

It was bloody heart-wrenching to see her so shaken and after an attack that never should have happened. Why was it he had thought it a good idea for her to leave the auditorium? Her scream had alerted him, but he was too far away and unable to help. Those few moments before he could get to her had been terrifying.

“Shaken.” She held up her hand for him to see; it was visibly shaking. She had been badly upset, and he could not blame her. From what she told him, he was just relieved she had not been harmed. 

She averted her gaze and quietly said, “I recognised his voice. It was the wizard from my memory, the one who tried to kill me before.”

Her words hit him like a bludger to the chest, and his breath caught.

Of course, he knew she was in danger, someone had tried to kill her, but tonight he had been keeping her safe and still she was almost abducted. He hated himself for risking her life, and for what? Her attacker knew where she was now and had nearly succeeded in his vile act. 

After a moment, she looked up at him again, and there was something in her eyes that caused him to pause. It looked a lot like terror, and he didn’t like that one bit. She might not have been physically harmed, but psychological scars might haunt her for a long time. She should never have been at the ball in the first place. He was such a fool to have agreed to the plan.

Merlin, he had been closer to losing her than he had thought. He needed some kind of reassurance that she was really alive and safe. His heart beating fast in his chest. Unable to stop himself, he swept her into his arms and held her close. He could feel her trembling. If the wizard had been successful and gotten her out of the party, he might never have seen her alive again! The realisation that he could have lost her so easily ripped through him.

She pulled back slightly, not trying to escape his embrace, just far enough to look into his eyes. Their eyes met, his resistance wavering, his mind too overcome with emotions. She frowned at the look in his eyes, which could only be a mixture of relief and horror. And love. All he saw was her soft brown eyes. 

Gazing into the depths of her eyes, he knew he could not risk losing her again. She was too important. She was everything. He had been fighting his love for her for years if he was honest with himself, but now looking into her eyes, he lost that battle. Truthfully, he didn’t want to win anymore. He just wanted her. He loved her so much, and he was tired of fighting it, of not doing anything about it. 

His self-control was slipping. Powerless to struggle any longer, he leaned closer and crushed her to him. His mouth was on hers with no subtlety, no finesse, nothing but raw passion and need, a need to reaffirm she was indeed still alive and right there with him. 

Her fingers tangled in his hair and her lips parted beneath his own. She wasn’t pulling away or fighting him! She was kissing him back with the same passion. Nothing existed except her; her taste, her touch, her scent, and her feel overwhelmed all his senses, but after a moment, sanity returned to him. The kiss was wrong, for a lot of reasons, and yet nothing in his life had ever felt so right. Eventually, he forced himself to pull away and break the kiss. 

“No,” she whispered, and her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him back to her, and he kissed her again with all the emotions in his heart, letting his passion take control. 

…

There was nothing gentle or hesitant about the kiss: it was urgent and possessive. She needed to know she was safe and worth protecting. She needed to feel something, anything. Anything but fear. 

Her arms curled around his shoulder, her fingers digging into the back of his neck, as she pressed herself closer to him. His arms surrounded her waist, holding her close. Feeling the heath of his lean male body through their clothes made her desire rise like a tidal wave from deep inside her. 

Shivering as his tongue swept the corners of her mouth, her lips parted slightly, enough for him to find entry into her mouth, and her tongue yielded to the passionate sliding and stroking of his. His kiss was like pure seduction, and she was losing herself in the passion. As he kissed her, any lingering thoughts on the evening’s event vanished from her mind until there was only him; his body pressed firmly against hers, his hands touching her body, and his lips covering hers fully. 

Feeling almost light-headed by their kisses, she eased back slightly to allow them to breathe. Not releasing him, she rested her forehead against his, and their breaths mingled. 

He smiled slightly. “Are you sure?” His voice betraying his struggle to remain in control.

She inhaled then exhaled rapidly, but even through the dizziness, her only thought was to kiss him again. 

“Yes.” The word came out on a breathless sigh, as she felt him focus his passion on kissing and nibbling a path along her jaw. It made her crazy with need, and she wanted more, more of him. Gasping shakily she responded by arching her back, exposing her throat for better access. 

Accepting the silent invitation, he kissed his way down the column of her throat, his mouth altering between licking, nibbling, and sucking the tender skin. Her hands buried themselves in his unruly hair as she pushed herself closer to his hard body. His hands slid from her waist to her back. She didn’t notice the zip of her dress going down, only registered when it loosened around her body. Suddenly the dress felt oppressive to her oversensitive skin, and she wanted to be rid of it. 

Murmuring gently in her ear, Harry helped free her from the garment, pulling the sleeves from her arms and lifting her out of it when it pooled around her ankles. 

Their gazes locked for a brief moment. His eyes roamed her body, and his look of unhidden appreciation made her skin burn and itch. The honest appraisal made her blush, as she fully realised she was standing in front of him in only her underwear.

With a soft smile, he gently cupped her cheeks with his hands. Their eyes held as he leaned forward to place a tender kiss on her lips. Then in a swift movement, he gathered her up in his arms and carried her to his bedroom. 

As he gently set her down on the bed, his eyes burned with a deep desire. _For her_. Her breath caught as she felt his desire wash over her and burn her from the inside. 

Quickly, he pulled his shirt over his head and discarded it on the floor before he joined her on the bed. Touching her cheek gently, he gazed at her with scorching eyes. 

With a groan, she leant forward to capture his mouth with hers. He answered her passion with his own, and their tongues met in a fury of passion. Without lifting his mouth from hers, he stroked his hands down her arms and then around her to remove her bra, exposing her breasts. His hands drifted over her skin to gently cup her breasts. A moan of pure lust escaped her lips as she pushed herself into his hands. Her pulse pounded with the blood rushing hotly through her veins at his touch, and she wanted more. 

“You like that,” he murmured softly. Slowly, he drew his hands away, teasing her skin until their only contact was his fingertips on her nipples. He pulled lightly on the hard bud before letting go completely. 

Her mouth dropped slightly open, and a moan of pleasure slipped through her lips. The sensations burned through her entire body, and she ached for his touch. “Again,” she practically sobbed. 

“Bossy, aren’t you?” he chuckled, but it came out more like a groan. He was not in as much control of himself as he pretended. Gently, he urged her back against the pillows while he leaned over her on his elbow. “You’ll like this even more.” 

And then put his mouth where his hands had been, the wet heat of his mouth finding her nipple, tugging on it gently. Shifting slightly, his hand caressed her other breast, tugging and rolling her nipple while he sucked firmly. Her already hard nipples tightened to the point of pain. It was too much and still not enough. Incoherent pleas and moans left her mouth, as she writhed upward in uncontrolled eagerness. It appeared the sounds edged him on, as his touch became more electrifying, burning across her skin and she felt the hot pulse grow between her thighs as tension built. More, she needed more. Her body might burst into flame. She was burning with a fever only he could cure. She ached for him. She needed him!

“Harry,” she moaned, her body trembling, awake and eager, screaming for release.

“You don’t understand what you do to me,” he murmured, gazing at her with burning eyes. “Merlin, Hermione. I want you so much. Please, tell me you want this too.”

“Yes,” she moaned, begging for his touch. “I want you. I _need_ you…”

In the blink of an eye, he was gone, having jumped from the bed. Quickly ridding himself of both his pants and underwear, he climbed back onto the bed, his smile almost feral. 

Her mouth ran dry at the sight of him, and she wanted to touch him, bring him the same pleasure as he brought her. Urging him on his back, she brushed light kisses on his mouth, while her hands slid down his chest. Her fingers danced across his chest, grazing his nipples and gently squeezing the tips. A low groan in his throat encouraged her to slide her lips downward, raining kisses over his chest. The taste of his skin was intoxicating. Beneath her palm, she felt his heartbeat increase, and his hands tangled in her hair, holding her close while also tugging lightly. 

Her hands slid downward splaying over his stomach, and she heard him suck in air as his muscles jumped underneath her hands. Looking up just in time to see his face as her hands reached the smooth, taut skin of his manhood. His eyes closed, and he almost looked like he was in pain.

Wrapping one hand around him, she stroked him gently. His skin was soft and smooth, but underneath he was hard. The sounds escaping his clenched lips, egged her on, and she tightened her hand around him. 

He made a feral sound and abruptly hauled her upward, rolling her onto her back. Leaning over her, he crushed her lips in a smouldering kiss. 

“I can’t wait any longer.”

His hands glided down her hips and thighs, and she arched slightly off the bed, as he swiftly removed her knickers. With the last barrier between them removed, her thighs widened, and he settled between them. She sucked in a harsh breath as his hand covered the curly hair between her legs, and he pressed a finger into her. 

“Merlin, you are so wet,” he groaned and removed his hand as he positioned himself above her. 

Their eyes met, and he looked at her with a penetrating stare that seemed to reach right into her soul. Still keeping eye contact, he entered her in one swift thrust, making her cry out. Buried deep inside her, he gazed down at her with heavy-lidded eyes, looking at her with such adoration that her heart skipped a beat. He bent to kiss her, his mouth fastened on hers with a primal need. Then he began to move, slowly and rhythmically, and she lifted her legs to wrap them around his waist. With her hands clutching his back, she arched towards him, rocking herself against his demanding thrusts, while an uncontrollable excitement built. 

“Harry,” she gasped, as stabs of desire jarred her body. Losing herself to the powerful thrusts, she lost all sense of time. There was only him. 

One of his hands moved up to curl in her hair, tilting her head slightly to get better access to her mouth, and she was happy to oblige. His kiss went deeper than before, and she felt like she was being consumed. 

Her hands flew to his buttocks to pull him closer. She wanted him harder, deeper, and he seemed to understand, his movements grew more and more frenzied, and the tempo increased. 

Pleasure washed over her in faster and faster rushes. Her breath came in little gasps as she arched against him, and she spiralled out of control. In a sea of blinding ecstasy, she cried out as her body clenched around him. 

He hissed at the movement, his breath laboured as he brought his lips to hers, drawing his arms around her as he thrust deeply into her one last time. 

Floating in a sea of mindless pleasure, trying to catch her breath, she felt Harry move onto his back, bringing her with him, holding her securely in his arms, her head resting on his chest. Bathed in sweat, they were both panting hard. Beneath her cheek, she heard the heavy beating of his heart. 

Her heartbeat slowly subsided to a less maddening pace, and she discovered that once more, she could think. The events of the evening came back to her, but the reminder of the attack seemed so far away, hidden behind more pleasurable memories. She was no longer scared. Knowing she was safe, safe in Harry’s arms, the memory had no power over her. 

“I almost lost you. I can’t believe how close I came to losing you,” he murmured so tenderly. 

Managing to lift her head, so her chin was resting on his chest, she looked into his heavy-lidded eyes. Something was burning in his eyes, that she did not recognise, but it made her feel all warm and fuzzy. 

Shaking her head, she managed to whisper, “Do you know how I got away?”

A frown insinuated itself between his brows, as he surveyed her. “No.” He sounded like he had not even considered it.

Unconsciously, she gently caressed his chest in slow, tantalising movements, as she explained. “I used the techniques you’d shown me. You taught me how to defend myself. You protected me even if you were not standing right there next to me.”

For a moment, he didn’t react, but slowly his green eyes began to shine with mirth and his lips curved into a smile. “You are amazing.”

She leaned over him to kiss him gently, but before she realised what was happening, he had flipped her over, so she was suddenly on her back again with him straddling her, holding her arms pinned above her head. 

“Should I be concerned you are not trying to break free?” he asked, as he leaned down to kiss her. 

She answered his kiss eagerly. “I’m not trying to escape you,” she whispered against his lips. 

He groaned and deepened the kiss, his mouth hungrily claiming hers. And far sooner than she’d thought possible, she felt him harden again as desire poured over them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! I'm back home and my computer is working, soooo here's the next chapter. Hope you like it :)

When Harry left for the Auror Office early the next morning, he was not surprised to see Hermione still in bed, sleeping. She had woken briefly when he got up, and after explaining he was headed to the Ministry, she had waved him off and gone back to sleep. Seeing her so exhausted had brought a smug smile to his face, as he thought with some satisfaction of their night. They had made love until the early hours of the morning. Dawn had begun to colour the horizon before he finally forced himself to stop touching her, and she fell asleep almost instantly snuggled at his side. 

Sleep had eluded him, and he had laid awake just listening to her breathing, contemplating how perfectly _right_ it felt to be with her. He had wanted her before, but now it was eclipsed by a feeling of complete and utter happiness of just being near her. He had never had a proper home, but holding her in his arms was like being home. _She_ was his home.

He thought of going back to the life he led before picking up her file. The work he did as an Auror was enjoyable and sometimes even thrilling, catching the bad guys had seemed a sufficient goal for so long. And there were always witches excited to warm the bed of a war-hero. For the past many years he had not once considered it a lonely existence, but looking back at it now, he realised that life had never really been satisfying. 

Now he’d had a taste of what a life with Hermione by his side might be like, and he could not imagine ever returning to that hollow and emotionless life. 

How could he ever forget her after last night? 

Turning his back on her and their friendship six years ago was the stupidest thing he had ever done, and then he was foolish enough to blame her for his actions! How cowardly and silly he had behaved! So what if she had been in love with Ron, was it not better to have Hermione in his life even just as a friend than not at all?

And yet, he hoped he could find a way to convince her that this thing between them was not just a one-time thing. They couldn’t go from this… _this_ … whatever it was merely to be friends. Or worse, go back to not even being friends. No, he had to convince her somehow that what they had was special and worth fighting for and that he would not leave a second time. 

But before he could even try to do that, he had to make sure whoever wanted her dead would not succeed, and so he was on the way to the Ministry to interrogate the assailant from the ball.

Yet, when he arrived at the Auror Office, Robards asked him quite firmly to join him in his office instead of heading to the holding cells. Unusual, but not uncommon and still it caused Harry to pause. Something about Robards’ posture seemed off. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was wrong. 

Closing the door, he turned to face Robards, but Robards pointed to one of the chairs in front of the desk before he could speak. “Take a seat.” His expression grim as he waited patiently for Harry to comply. 

With a sense of foreboding, Harry watched his Head through narrowed eyes and demanded, “What happened?”

Leaning forward over the table, Robards looked at Harry with an expressionless face. “Thomas lost him.”

“WHAT!” White-hot fury blazed through him, and he jumped from the chair. “How?” he demanded, his blood teeming with rage. 

If the Aurors could not be counted on to perform their jobs, then Harry would personally find the assailant, and then he would make him suffer.

It was all Dean’s fault for letting the wizard escape! “That lousy Auror—”

“Shut up, Potter,” Robards interrupted firmly, his voice barely raised, “before you say something I cannot ignore. I don’t want to have to give you an official warning!”

It was the tone of voice no Auror dared question, and yet Harry was about to ignore the order. Robards must have seen the defiance in his eyes. 

“Sit down, Potter!” He spoke with a steely voice, using the commanding tone of the Head of the Auror Office, the voice that could make a room full of Aurors shake, and the command was finally able to penetrate the dark cloud of anger surrounding Harry. 

Following the order, Harry sat back down with his arms crossed and glaring daggers at his boss. 

Robards remained unruffled at the sight of Harry’s rage. Calmly, he said, “Thomas was able to track him to the Atrium, but unfortunately the perpetrator got away.”

“How?” he asked through gritted teeth, barely in control of his anger. 

Robards sighed. “Berrycloth left his position in pursuit of a wizard acting suspiciously, believing this was the man who attacked Hermione, but it turned out to be a wizard meeting in secret with a witch who was not his wife, but this led to a clear passage to the Atrium. Thomas was fast, you know he is, but the perpetrator was faster.”

Harry’s anger dimmed, only to be replaced by frustration. Dean was an excellent Auror and adept at tracking a criminal when time was of the essence. The assailant had not had a Portkey and had needed to rush to the Atrium to escape. If Dean had been unable to catch him, then it said more about the assailant’s skills than Dean’s lack thereof. 

In frustration, Harry rose from the chair to pace the office. “I can’t believe someone could get away from Dean. But even so, someone else must have seen him. Are you even sure he was not still hiding in the Ministry?” 

“Thomas is very thorough. You know that. Also, they found Finnigan in the Atrium, having fought with the perpetrator. He tried to stop the wizard, as he was fleeing, but in the end, he was knocked about pretty badly, so we sent him to the healers.”

As the implication of that statement hit Harry, he stopped pacing and turned to face Robards. “Then, Seamus saw him?” 

“He did,” Robards confirmed with a smile, “but he did not recognise him. However, we now have a description of the wizard; he is a young man with a foreign accent. He is tall and has a thin, long face and black hair.”

Harry frowned at the description. It didn’t sound like anyone he recognised, and it definitely didn’t sound like Lucius bloody Malfoy, but no matter he would soon discover his identity and then he would make him pay. 

“How is Miss Granger?”

“She was shaken, but she seemed better once we were away from the Ministry.” 

As he remembered the previous evening, a smile was trying to break his impassive facade. Except for the attack, the evening had been surprisingly enjoyable. He could not recall ever having had such a good time at a Ministry ball, and it was all because of Hermione. Even dancing, a sport he hated, had been joyful, but nothing could eclipse the complete and utter delight of their passion-filled night together. 

“Good. Good.” Robards nodded. “By the way, we still need her official testimony of what happened, and since you are working on her case you can’t take it, so I suggest you bring her here and I’ll record it.”

Harry hesitated. He knew Robards was right; the short explanation they had gotten the night before was not testimony enough. But Hermione was not safe anywhere except in Grimmauld Place. Last night proved that but the second safest place was probably the Auror Office, so he finally gave in. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “When do you want us to stop by?”

“Just one of the coming days.”

…

Sundays were usually quiet at the Auror Office with most Aurors enjoying the day with their families. There might be one or two Aurors working on an important case, but never many. When Harry arrived there earlier, the Office had been deserted, except for Robards, but he practically lived at the Auror Office with as much time he spent there. 

So when Harry left Robards’ office, he was not very surprised to see another Auror had arrived. What shocked him though was that the person was standing by Harry’s desk, searching through the documents on the table.

“Hey!” Harry shouted as he walked over. “What are you doing?”

The man looked up, and Harry recognised him immediately. Seamus looked at Harry with a slightly guilty expression. “Oh, Harry, I didn’t know you were here. I’m just looking for a file.”

“What file?” He stopped next to Seamus and took in the mess on his desk. By the looks of it, Seamus had gone through everything. Granted there was not much there, since he kept Hermione’s file in his bag, so he always had it with him, and that was his only open case. 

“That case we worked on a while back?”

Looking at his colleague in confusion, he tried to recall what case Seamus was talking about. There hadn’t been anything for at least half a year. “The break-in at Slug & Jiggers Apothecary?” 

Seamus’ eyes brightened, and he grinned widely. “Yes. That one. Where is it?”

Frowning, he looked at Seamus in bewilderment. “But that case was filed long ago. I don’t have any of the documents here anymore. You know that.”

“Oh.” 

“So why do you need it anyway?” There had been nothing unusual about that break-in, and they had caught a wizard with the stolen goods quickly. It was over, finished, case closed.

“It was just because my new case has a similar m.o.” 

With a nod, he accepted Seamus’ reasoning, but then considered the implications. “How similar?”

“Sorry?”

“How similar are the cases?” he elaborated. “Similar enough that we need to talk to the wizard serving two years in Azkaban for the break-in?” What if they had somehow caught the wrong wizard or only one wizard from a crime syndicate? It could blow up in their faces if the new case turned out to be connected to the old one.

“I don’t think so, but I just want to check the case to be sure, you see.” 

“Well, it never hurts to double-check,” he agreed with a slight nod. Seamus was a fine Auror not only for catching a possible connection but also for actually putting in the work to see it through. “But you need to dig the file out from storage.”

“Of course, I should have thought of that,” Seamus agreed with a wry smile. “I just saw the new case and immediately thought of that old one.”

“Do you need me to look at your new case?”

“No,” he replied quickly. “It’s fine, really. I just didn’t think about that old case having been filed already.” He grinned sheepishly, indicating he knew he had been careless not to consider that fact. Hesitantly, he stepped away, turning back to his desk, while Harry rearranged a few items on his desk. 

Only a few feet away, Seamus stopped and turned back around. “Hey, Harry. I wanted to ask you about Hermione. I was surprised to see you two together at the ball last night.”

Glancing up at his colleague, he asked, “And what was your question?”

“Is she your new case?” 

What could he tell Seamus? He didn’t want to tell anyone anything as he still struggled with the boundaries between work and privacy. This case had completely messed with his work ethic and his ability to work effectively. In the end, he just asked, “Why do you assume she’s part of a case?”

“Oh, I just didn’t think you were friends anymore. I was just surprised to see her at the ball.”

“Hmm,” was all Harry replied. Would he describe this thing he had with Hermione as friendship? It felt like a lot more than _just_ a friendship. He didn’t know if he could ever go back to simply being friends with her; his love for her would always overshadow their friendship, but friendship would be better than nothing at—

“Do you need any help with the case?” Seamus asked, cutting into Harry’s thoughts and recalling to Harry where he was. “What exactly happened to her?” 

“Aren’t you busy?” He tried to deflect the question instead of actually having to answer.

“With what?”

“The case with the same modus operandi as the Slug & Jiggers break-in,” Harry replied slowly, teasing his colleague. “Or did you already forget your new case?”

“Oh no, that one is just not that important.” Seamus grinned, but his expression quickly fell, and he looked at Harry hesitantly. “It’s just that Hermione was my friend too at Hogwarts and I just want to be sure she’s alright. And then Robards said the man that I failed to detain might have been important to a case.”

Sighing, Harry considered what he knew; Seamus _had_ tried to catch the wizard who attacked Hermione and had gotten himself knocked about pretty severely. Seamus was one of the good guys, a fine Auror, and even a friend, so he decided to tell him a little, just the official story. 

“She’s fine, but she was in a Muggle traffic accident, so I’m just helping her get back on her feet, as she has no recollection of anything from before the accident.”

“Oh, that’s horrible. She really remembers nothing, nothing at all?”

“The Muggle doctor said her memories would come back, but it might take some time.” Harry confided. “She’s had a few moments where her memories seem to be on the verge of returning, but the mind truly is a mysterious thing.”

Clenching his jaw, probably to keep his emotions under control, Seamus looked horrified. Harry felt a new kinship with him, as he too had been horrified to learn of Hermione’s accident, and he knew it had been so much more than a simple accident. 

“If you or Hermione need any help with anything, just let me know. I want to help.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied and wondered if he should accept. The case was proving more challenging than he had predicted, and he _was_ emotionally compromised. He had messed up multiple times already, so perhaps the perspective of someone not entangled with the victim might be beneficial. 

But then he remembered the promise he had made to himself; never again to have Seamus involved with his cases, at least until he got those accidental pyrotechnics under control. 

…

Just as Harry was about to leave the Auror Office and head back to Grimmauld Place, Dean walked in. With a glance around the Office, he took stock of who was there. Upon seeing Harry, his expression hardened, and he rushed over. 

“Harry, you have been avoiding me!” he began, as he placed a hand on his shoulder, almost like he was afraid Harry would disappear if he didn’t. “And then yesterday you finally decided to show yourself when I was on guard duty and unable to speak to you. This time you will not avoid me. I have to talk to you.”

As his mind had been firmly on Hermione, Harry was not eager to hang around the Auror Office and help Dean, but he couldn’t think of a reason to reject, and he had been doing his best to avoid Dean. With an apologetic smile, he turned to his colleague. “Alright,” and before Dean was able to explain what he needed, he added, “You don’t usually work Sundays.”

“You mean you hoped I wouldn’t show up here today and corner you?” But before Harry could answer, Dean grinned and continued, “I’m trying to pick up some overtime pay. You know the salary they pay us is not great and I need the extra money. Robards _did_ sign off on it.” 

Of course, he knew the Ministry salary was low, but it had never mattered to him, as he had a vault in Gringotts full of Galleons from his parents and a decent house in the middle of London from his Godfather. Never having to worry about money was a luxury, one he would hate to give up. However, the salary was not why he worked as an Auror. It had all started with a sense of duty to keep the wizarding world safe. Now it was because… _hmm_ , he couldn’t actually recall why. Why _did_ he enjoy working as an Auror? 

Instead of considering it too much, he turned his attention back to Dean. As the two men sat down, he asked, “Why do you even need the extra money?”

Dean looked up grinning. “Sean and I are looking to buy a house.” Dean and Sean had been dating for the past couple of years, so that made sense. Harry had met the former Hufflepuff a few times and liked him well enough. 

“So what can I do for you?” 

“I was looking for you to ask for a favour with my case.”

“Ah, yes.” Harry nodded, recalling the conversation with Robards from weeks ago. “Robards mentioned something about that. Difficulties with a witness, was it?”

“Exactly!” Dean leaned forward, his face looking more animated than before. “I had so much trouble reaching her. I thought I would have to give up, but then seeing you guys last night—”

“Last night?” Harry repeated, his eyes narrowing as he interrupted Dean with a sense of foreboding, but he couldn’t possibly mean _her_ , surely! And yet he held his breath as he said, “Tell me, just _who_ is the witness.”

“Hermione, of course! That’s why I hoped you could help me, but I wasn’t sure since I thought you were not friends anymore. And then I saw you two together last night.”

Harry went utterly still. No, it just couldn’t be. But if it was…? How the hell could Hermione be connected to Dean’s case? This could be the connection he had been missing, which could lead him straight to Hermione’s assailant. And yet her being a witness in another case could be just a coincidence, couldn’t it? One hell of a coincidence. No, he didn’t believe that.

“What case are you working on?” His expression remained blank while his insides were in turmoil.

“The Malfoy case.” Dean frowned as if Harry should already know that. And he should know that, of course. He _did_ know it, but he just hadn’t bothered to figure out anything else except Dean was working on a case about the Malfoys.

“But why do you need Hermione?” Only years of practising his impassive facade kept his face devoid of emotions. 

“Well, so you know it’s a missing person case, and Hermione was one of the two who reported it—”

“Wait, can you go back? Who is missing?”

“Draco Malfoy.” Dean looked at Harry strangely. “He’s been missing for the past four weeks.” For a moment neither spoke, but then Dean sighed and elaborated, “On 29 August he was reported missing, and I got the case—”

“And Hermione reported it?” Harry interrupted again. 

But it didn’t make sense, Hermione was not friends with the Malfoys! Sighing, he accepted the truth that he had absolutely no idea who her friends were anymore. Except for Cho Chang. And didn’t that suddenly seem like a perfectly normal friendship when compared to the likes of Draco Malfoy?

“Yes, Hermione and Zabini.” Dean’s reply cut through Harry’s thoughts. “I want to talk to her since I’m having no luck solving this case. I’ve found no traces of Draco. He truly is missing.”

Harry could not see a problem with Malfoy being missing, nor did he really care, but since it involved Hermione, he would care. For the first time since he picked up Hermione’s case, he had a promising lead, but the knowledge that this information had been available to him for weeks had he only spoken to Dean was sobering. Emotionally compromised indeed!

Something connected Hermione and Malfoy, and that connection might be what risked her life, but how did Zabini fit into it? With new information came more questions. To have a chance of solving it, he needed all the information he could obtain from Dean. 

“I assume you already interviewed Zabini.” When Dean didn’t immediately respond, Harry looked at him, noticing his guarded expression. “What did he have to say?” 

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Zabini is dead.”

“WHAT?” Harry exploded and flew from the chair he was sitting in. Merlin, what if that was connected to Hermione’s attack? “When… when did he die?”

“Around three weeks ago, I believe, but I’ll need to check the dates to be sure.” 

“Check it now!” Harry urged firmly, his voice hoarse.

Dean, clearly taken aback by Harry’s sudden exclamation, quickly jumped to his own desk, looking through the documents there. “Here it is,” he said, holding a piece of paper and skimming through it. “The body was recovered on 3 September, but CCTV caught the victim’s last moments on the 1st around 6 pm.”

CCTV records of the victim’s last movements… Was it possible he could find such records for the attack on Hermione? That was an interesting thought, but how did one go about requesting such records—

Wait… did he say the 1st? The attack on Hermione had been on the 1st… 

The world just tipped on its axis, and Harry was unable to determine which way was up anymore. His entire body froze, and his mind stopped working. What were the odds that both Hermione and Zabini almost died on the same night? It could not be a coincidence. It had to be connected. How could it not? But then what exactly did it mean? 

Hermione’s assailant was a cold-blooded murderer, and already she had faced him twice. Harry could not allow a third encounter. 

But this clearly was the connection he needed. He just had to put the pieces together to see the full picture. 

“Did they discover who killed Zabini?”

“Zabini’s death was a suicide. He jumped off Lambeth Bridge and drowned. The Muggle police were able to identify him, and we received the news shortly after.”

Suicide? No, there’s no way it could have been a suicide. It was just too perfect. It had to have been an assault also. “If it was a suicide, how would you even know about it? We don’t get that kind of information.”

Dean looked surprised by the question. “My two only witnesses were gone, what should I do? Wait around for them just to reappear? Of course, I just asked Registries to receive information if there were any updates to Zabini’s or Hermione’s records. And what do you know Zabini’s record was updated with a death notice after the Muggles filed the information in their system.”

Harry blinked. “You can do that?” Why had he never considered doing something like that? That was so clever.

Sighing deeply, Dean just looked at Harry and shook his head. “It’s not really a secret.”

Oh. If he had failed to realise that was even an option, had he failed to grasp anything else important, because of his quickness to dismiss his colleagues? That was a sobering thought. Perhaps he didn’t _always_ know best… 

Unsure about what to do, but he knew he needed more information about the Malfoy case. There might be something to explain why reporting Malfoy as missing could lead to someone wanting Hermione and Zabini dead. He also really needed to see those CCTV records, as there might be something the Muggles missed that a wizard would recognise. “I need to see your case.” 

“Sure,” Dean replied slowly. “Is there a connection between our cases?”

With a wry smile, Harry replied, “Maybe. I don’t know for certain whether there is, but I need to see your case.”

“Alright.” Dean indicated the documents on his desk. “This is it.”

If the clutter on Dean’s desk was any indication, then the Malfoy case contained numerous documents, or Dean might have his hands just a bit too full with cases for the overtime pay. 

Not at all sure where to start, Harry picked up the first document he could reach and frowned. “A coroner’s report for a Mr Munch.”

“That shouldn’t be there,” Dean replied, taking the document from Harry.

“Who’s Mr Munch?”

“Oh, it’s just one of my other cases,” Dean grinned, but explained, “Erik Munch was a Ministry employee who was found dead a few weeks ago. Former Watchwizard but worked as a registrar until his death.”

“Murder?”

“Initial report from the coroner says he was hit by an AK,” Dean replied. “I’ve interviewed everyone in Registries about it, and the man had no enemies. He was a well-liked registrar. Perhaps it has to do with his previous job; perhaps he saw something when he worked as a Watchwizard.”

As Mr Munch had no connection to his case, Harry picked up another document. This one was severely burnt, but he could still recognise the heading; a marriage record. 

“It’s a bit of a mess, I know,” Dean replied, seeing the look of distaste on Harry’s face, “but after the initial setbacks I had to go through everything with a fine-tooth comb.”

“What initial setbacks?” 

“Well, there was Lucius Malfoy’s strange behaviour when I interviewed him, then the two witnesses suddenly disappeared with one showing up dead…” He trailed off, seeing the record in Harry’s hands. “And, of course, the burnt records.”

“At least this was just a marriage record.”

“But it could be important.”

“You didn’t check it when you got the file?”

“I skimmed through the documents when I got the case, but I missed it. It had gotten stuck on the back of the emergency contact record. I didn’t notice it until after it was burned, as I wasn’t searching for it.”

Sighing in frustration, Harry knew he shouldn’t blame Dean, but he still blamed him. Sloppy Auror work to not notice the documents sticking together. But how often had he not complained about the magical records sticking to each other? 

“It has to be blank,” Harry said firmly. “If Malfoy had married, it would have made the front page of the Prophet, and there hasn’t even been a rumour.”

“I agree,” Seamus interjected. “I was even looking at it when I accidentally… _you know_. It _is_ blank.”

Harry raised his eyes to Seamus, sitting at his own desk and looking straight at Harry and Dean. As he caught Harry’s eye, he grinned.

“Is that confirmation enough for you?” Harry grinned at Dean.

“I really just want to check it myself,” Dean replied with a wry smile. “Is that really so wrong of me?”

“Then why didn’t you just replace the records after they were burnt?” 

“I sent in a request for it, but I’m still waiting. Apparently at some point after I received the case and before I sent the request for replacements, the records became classified.”

“Classified,” Harry repeated. “Have you encountered many records in Registries being classified?” 

“No, none before this.”

Having never come across classified records before in his entire Auror career, it was suspicious that two different records were classified. If nothing else that proved a connection, didn’t it? There was something in both Malfoy’s and Cho’s files that someone wanted to be kept secret. But how did it involve Hermione? Harry would need to dig deeper into the Malfoy case to find the connection. At least they had most of the records even if quite a few of them had been burned. Damn unlucky, but just having the records meant they were one step ahead. 

“What other of his records do you have?”

“Most of them are burnt, but when I first got the case, I noticed his emergency contact was Zabini,” Dean replied as he flipped through a few documents on his desk, handing a mostly burnt document to Harry. The record was hardly legible. 

_  
...Contact fo..._

_…co Malfoy of 29 P…_

_...pril 2001 as…_

_...ise Zabini of 8 Gifford S...  
_

Dean was holding out another file to Harry. “This one was the least burnt record.”

Taking the document, Harry looked at it. “A list of addresses all over the British Isles? Aberdeen, Llanfairynghornwy, London, Nairn, Torquay...” Harry glanced at his colleague. “What is this?”

“That is the list of properties registered in Draco’s name,” Dean replied, grinning. “I think that might be the most important piece of evidence.”

“How so?”

“Those are all the Malfoy family properties, except Malfoy Manor, which is still registered in Lucius’ name. Look at the date of when the properties were signed over to Draco. Do you see it?”

“Yes, 9 September 1998, why is that significant?”

“Lucius Malfoy’s trial was concluded on 10 September 1998.” 

Thinking back to the time right after the war, Harry could not remember much of that trial. He did recall though that Lucius should have been sent to Azkaban like the rest of the Death Eaters but had managed to get away with just a fine. 

“His penalty was based on the monetary value of all assets he owned at the time of sentencing. Not what his family owned.”

“Son of a bitch knew he would only get a fine and signed most of the assets over to his son to reduce it.” Even after the capture of the Death Eaters infiltrating the Ministry, Lucius Malfoy had still held substantial power in the Ministry. Did he still wield that kind of power to this day? That was a terrifying thought.

“Exactly, and those properties have remained in Draco’s control all these years, but now he is missing and the last person to see Draco was Lucius.” 

Malfoy was missing, Zabini and Hermione reported him as such, then they both almost died on the same day. It all seemed to tie back to Lucius Malfoy. However, he did not match the description of the assailant from the ball, and even with the evidence, Harry could not believe the attack on Hermione had anything to do with the Malfoy properties. There had to be something else, something more than just _houses_ that connected all of them.

“Do you really think Lucius is behind the disappearance?”

“I interviewed him just after I got the case, and he was a very frustrating witness. Didn’t wish to answer my questions, but he did admit that Draco often goes off the grid and that he was not concerned.”

“Sounding like someone responsible for the disappearance to begin with?”

“I think it highly likely, but I just can’t find anything to tie Lucius to it, but the m.o. is very similar to when Narcissa Malfoy disappeared. She was last seen returning after a shopping trip. However, the only real evidence I can find is the properties, and if Lucius wanted them back, he might force Draco to sign them over. But then again Draco _is_ Lucius’ sole heir and would inherit the properties eventually anyway. You see why I want to speak to Hermione? Since she reported Draco missing, she might be his friend and might be able to shed some more light on what is going on. Right now, she might be the only person who can solve this.”


	11. Chapter 11

The Muggle police officer in charge of Zabini’s case worked at the Kennington Police Station in London, so that was why Harry had made his way there after his conversation with Dean and was currently waiting for Chief Inspector Wilson. 

This was not how Harry had assumed his day would progress, but it had proven a day full of new information and new leads though nothing as important as the news about Zabini. He had to know more about his death. It just could not be a coincidence that both Zabini and Hermione were attacked on the same day. No, it had to be connected, and it had to revolve around Draco Malfoy. Somehow reporting Malfoy as missing put targets on both their backs. But how did it lead back to Lucius Malfoy and the, as of yet, unidentified assailant?

“Inspector Potter? I’m Detective Constable Davis,” an officer about Harry’s age said, reaching out to shake hands. “Unfortunately, Chief Inspector Wilson is out today, but I hope I can assist you instead. How may I help you?”

“I’m here about a drowning at Lambeth Bridge a few weeks ago. The victim might be important for another case, and I would like to take a look at your evidence. Especially the CCTV recordings,” Harry replied, shaking the other man’s hand. 

The DC frowned, trying to recall the case from memory. “I’ll have to find it in the system. Do you have the date of the incident as that will make it easier for me to locate the specific files?”

“From what I know, he jumped off the bridge on the 1st, but his body was not found until the 3rd,” Harry replied, parroting the information he had learned from Dean. 

The DC nodded and wrote the information down on a small notepad. “Do you also have the name of the victim?”

“His name was Blaise Zabini,” Harry answered, recalling the information from their school days, but then his mind caught what he had just said. Blaise. A name beginning with B. 

“Alright, I’ll take a look. Won’t you wait in the meeting room over there?” 

While Harry went to the room, the DC pointed him to, his mind wandered. If Zabini was the B Hermione was meeting then that was another connection tying them together, but something didn’t add up. Hermione’s attack had been around nine in the evening, while Zabini had jumped off the bridge at around six according to Dean. Zabini could not possibly have been the one meeting Hermione... unless he had planned to show up but then never arrived. But how would the assailant have gotten the information? 

If B really was Zabini, it perfectly fitted with what he already knew, and it confirmed the connection between Hermione and Malfoy. Though he still could not say why or when they had become friends. 

And there was also Cho to consider! How did she fit into all of this? Her letter had mentioned the _boys_ not receiving her owls. What if those boys were Malfoy and Zabini? Whoever had kidnapped Malfoy had probably made him untraceable, since Dean could not find any signs of him, and Zabini was dead. Both valid reasons for owls not locating them. 

It all came back to the question; why was Malfoy missing? If it was because of those properties as Dean thought, then why did that involve Hermione and Zabini? It just didn’t add up. 

Dammit, but he still could not place all the pieces of the puzzle. He felt he was so close to solving the case. It was just the last few pieces he needed to see the full picture. Hopefully, he would learn something from the Muggles.

“I found the files,” the DC said as he walked in. “They are on the local drive, so I can show you here.” 

Harry watched in fascination as the DC went to the computer in the corner and turned it on. Of course, Harry knew what a computer was, but he had no idea how to use one, so he dearly hoped the DC would not try to make him navigate it. After a few moments, the DC pointed to something on the screen and said, “Here’s the file. All the CCTV recordings were spliced together to show the victim’s movements leading up to the suicide.”

The DC started to rise with the obvious aim of allowing Harry to take the seat. Not sure how to use the computer, Harry immediately moved forward and leaned over the DC’s shoulder. “Play it now, if you please.”

The DC sank back into the chair without protest and pressed something on the screen, and a black box appeared. As Harry watched, the black box merged into a black and white video. It was grainy, but he could easily make out Zabini running fast down a street. The video cut and Zabini was seen from a different angle but still running. He kept looking over his shoulder as… He was being chased! Suddenly, Zabini stopped, waved a bit on his legs and then collapsed. Clearly, he had not tripped.

“The Stunning Spell,” Harry muttered under his breath. The effects of that curse were apparent, and there was no doubt in Harry’s mind; a wizard had chased Zabini, and that wizard had caught his prey. 

As the video showed Zabini’s motionless body on the road, a shadow fell on the body, and something moved through the sight of vision. It was impossible to identify, but Harry was certain it was the murderer. After a moment, Zabini rose to his feet. He stood still, too still, as if waiting for an order. Harry’s breath caught. 

Zabini stood as if he was under the Imperius Curse! 

Narrowing his eyes, trying to see the video more clearly, Harry could determine Zabini was moving his head. Was he talking? It looked like he was speaking to a person off-screen. Was he speaking to the murderer? If so, it might explain how the murderer knew where to meet Hermione. 

After a few minutes, Zabini turned around and started walking down the street. His movements were more jerky than before, and it indicated he was trying to fight the Imperius. But even so, he still walked without stopping onto a bridge and to the railing. 

“Merlin,” Harry gasped as he realised what would happen next. 

Zabini lifted himself on the railing. For just a moment he stood there, clearly trying to fight the spell; his body shuddering strangely. Then he took a step forward and jumped into the water of the Thames, and the video turned to black. 

“The victim showed a strange pattern of behaviour prior to the suicide,” the DC said, turning around in the chair to look at Harry. “We ran a tox screening, but nothing came up, and the coroner determined the cause of death to be drowning.”

Shocked speechless by what he had just seen, Harry could only stare at the now black screen. Zabini had not committed suicide. He was murdered. 

“Is there...” he began, but his voice came out strangely hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is there any video from other angles showing the murderer?”

“But it’s suicide. There was no other person near enough to have killed him, and you saw how easily he jumped off the bridge.”

Harry was not surprised that the Muggles had written the case off as a suicide, but he needed them to look at the case again. There was a probability that a video existed of the murderer, and he wanted it. Even with Seamus’ description of the assailant from the ball, a video would be a breakthrough. 

However, he had no idea of how to get it by himself, so he needed the Muggles to get it for him, but how to convince DC Davis to look again? How do you explain magic to a Muggle without actually explaining it? 

“There are ways to force a person to act as you wish without touching them,” Harry began. “Blackmail, for example. You saw how the victim spoke to someone off-camera, and there was the shadow that crossed the camera’s line of vision.”

“Shadow?” The DC reversed the video, finding the correct part. “Ah, that! We didn’t discover what happened here.”

“I believe that shadow belongs to the person who forced the victim to jump off the bridge.”

DC Davis opened his mouth, but no sound came out. 

“I understand why you didn’t look more into this case, but I need you to locate this shadow. It is imperative.” 

That video was the best lead Harry had, so he needed them to locate it for him. It had to be the same wizard who attacked both Hermione and Zabini. Even if he didn’t quite understand why they were targeted in the first place, he was certain their attacks were connected. Their attacks were too similar to be anything but the same assailant. Neither had used magic to defend themselves. Hermione had mentioned the assailant had removed her wand, so he had probably succeeded with doing the same to Zabini. A surprise attack of _Expelliarmus_ and they would be wandless. Also, they had both been running from their assailant, dodging spells— 

Wait, Zabini had not dodged the spells, only Hermione had. 

What spell was it Hermione had dodged? He could not remember. Could it have been the Stunning Spell? Then there was a possibility that avoiding _that_ specific spell saved her life. Harry shuddered. She had been so close to dying! 

“Are you okay, Inspector?” the DC asked. He must have seen the emotions play across Harry’s face, for he looked at him in alarm. 

No, he was not okay, but he couldn’t tell the DC that. Getting his emotions back under control was crucial so he could slip into the impassive Auror persona. Harry hated the idea of pulling rank in the Muggle police, but he needed to know who the assailant was, and as a member of the HEX division he could make that command, so he said, “I need you to locate that shadow. That is an order.” 

“Yes, Sir,” the DC replied with a sigh but seemed eager enough to proceed. The idea of a suicide being a murder case was too compelling for the DC to turn down. After filling out a form to request the work, he gave the DC his contact information and left the police station. 

Once he was outside, he was overwhelmed by nausea and bent over, taking deep breaths. His heart was pounding as if he had run a marathon. _That_ had been a revelation! 

He knew someone had attacked Hermione, wanting her dead, but seeing what could have happened shook him to his core. If she had not dodged _that_ spell… Understanding just how close to death Hermione had been that night, upset him more than he thought possible. And if she hadn’t gotten away, she might have been written off as another suicide, and no one would have thought to investigate…

Merlin, even knowing she was safe at Grimmauld Place— She was safe, wasn’t she? Logically he knew she was safe, but his mind could not convince his heart. What if the murderer had somehow found a way to break through his protective charms? What if she was, at this very moment, fighting for her life, again? 

He shuddered at the thought. He needed to make sure she was safe. 

Hardly able to see straight, he found a dark corner and apparated home. Arriving back at Grimmauld Place, he rushed through the house calling her name. There were no replies, no noise in the house. All he could hear was the roaring of his heart, as he desperately searched for her. 

She was not in the library! Nor the kitchen! His panic rose, as he could not find her. No one should be able to get to her here, but what if… No! Don’t even think about it.

“Hermione,” he called loudly as he ran up the stairs, trying to ignore the sound of panic in his voice. She had to be safe!

And then, as if the clouds parted for the sun, he saw her. Popping her head of the drawing-room, she looked at him expectantly. As she stood before him, basked in the soft golden lights from the windows, he could not see anything but her beloved face. His heart stopped at the sight of her, and then relief washed through him so quickly it was almost painful.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” she asked, smiling at him.

“I feared...” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought aloud. 

He grabbed her hands in his, needing to feel her, to ascertain that she was really there and not some figment of his imagination. 

“Was it the Stunning Spell?”

“Was what the Stunning Spell?” she asked, clearly not understanding his meaning.

“The night you were attacked, you said you dodged a spell, was it the Stunning Spell?” The words rushed out of his mouth in a rapid stream, the sentences strung together in one long question.

She thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” she eventually said. “He said _Stupefy_ , but I’m not sure what—”

The words hit him, and he flinched. She had been so close to death. If the assailant had successfully hit her with that spell, Harry might never have seen her again. Just thinking about it caused his chest to constrict painfully, and he felt he could almost _taste_ death, her death. A sour taste in his throat, sharp and acidic, which forced the air from his lungs. 

Before he even knew what he was doing, he swept her into his arms and held her close. His heart was beating too fast. Holding her in his arms, calmed him slightly, but not nearly enough. The rush of adrenaline from his mad dash to locate her left his body feeling strangely alive and burning. 

“Har—,” she began, lifting her head to look at him but he interrupted her by hungrily claiming her mouth with his. 

He kissed her with the desperation and hunger of a man who had nothing left to lose, which was absurd because losing her would destroy him. His passion flared through him, and when he felt her kiss him back, his knees almost buckled under him. Her hands snaked around his body to embrace him. Slowly, he led her back towards the sofa in the drawing-room, and she came with him willingly.


	12. Chapter 12

The next day Harry escorted Hermione to the Auror Office so that she could give her official testimony of the attack at the ball. He didn’t like having to bring her outside, but hopefully, it would be a quick meeting, and then they’d return to Grimmauld Place. And once she was safely tucked away again, then he might be able to take a closer look at the Malfoy case. See if anything stood out, look for more similarities. If he didn’t figure this out soon, then the consequences could be severe. Whoever wanted her dead now knew she was alive and was able to plan a new attack. Harry could not allow that to happen. 

Almost as soon as they stepped through the door, Abercrombie called out, waving a thin file in his hands. “Hey, Harry! I was just about to owl you this. Guess I don’t have to now.”

Taking the file from the eager young man, Harry asked, “What is it?”

“One of those Muggle Police Owl thingies.”

“One of those _what_?” 

But before Abercrombie had a chance to reply, Robards came out of his office, drawn by their voices. 

“Miss Granger, a pleasure to see you again. Though I wish it were under better circumstances.” 

“The pleasure is mine,” Hermione replied with a smile and stretched her hand in greeting. 

Robards gently held her hand with both of his as he smiled at her, and Harry almost growled possessively. He _knew_ Robards was merely friendly to a victim, but his jealousness was difficult to quell. He wanted all of her smiles for himself. 

“Being allowed outside without it being a danger to my life is a nice change.”

The questioning look Robards sent Harry, had him muttering, “It’s not safe. I have to keep her safe.” Even to his own ears, he sounded demented and just a bit selfish, but _he_ had to keep her safe. He couldn’t trust anyone else with her safety.

Shaking his head in bemusement, Robards only said, “Won’t you both join me in my office, so we can get the testimony recorded?”

With a hand at her lower back, Harry led her into the office. Pulling out one of the chairs for her, she sat down, as Harry retreated to the back of the office. 

Once they were all settled, Robards pulled out a quill, ink, and parchment. “I want you to explain what happened on the evening of 24 September at the Ministry’s Autumn Ball. Don’t leave out anything just because you think it might not be important. At this point, we don’t know what is or is not crucial information.” Dipping the quill in ink, he looked expectantly at Hermione. 

Hesitating, Hermione sat straight, her eyes on Robards, but Harry could see she was wringing her hands under the table. She was nervous, and he longed to wrap his arms around her and tell her it would be alright. He wanted to support her and make everything alright, but he was there to observe, not interfere. 

“I hardly know where to start.” 

“Start with how you ended up in the hallway by yourself,” Robards replied in his most calming voice. It was a tone he never used with the Aurors, but Hermione clearly found comfort in it as she visibly relaxed, and her hands stopped fidgeting. Her general posture became less rigid and more loose. 

“I was in the auditorium when I saw this elderly wizard. He caught my attention and indicated he wanted me to go outside with him.”

“Do you know who he was?” Robards asked, trying to keep her talking.

She nodded. “Harry told me he was my boss… a Mr Thaddeus Thurkell.”

Writing down the name, Robards prompted her to continue with an, “And then?”

While she spoke, Robards wrote down everything she said. She explained how Harry helped her escape the auditorium with Mr Thurkell, and how he had mentioned three Aurors asking him about her. That was news to Harry. He only just realised he had never asked her what she and Mr Thurkell had talked about. 

The quill stopped moving on the paper, and Robards looked at her. “Did Mr Thurkell mention who those Aurors were?” 

Though he was supposed to observe only, Harry had been about to ask the same question. 

“The last one was Harry,” she said, as she pointed over her shoulder at him, “but before him had been someone looking for me about a case. I don’t know who he was.”

“That’s perfectly fine, Miss Granger,” Robards smiled at her. “We’ll find out.”

“It’s got to have been Dean,” Harry said, not able to hold his tongue. Robards eyes lifted from Hermione to Harry, and Harry found himself explaining. “Dean told me that Hermione is a witness in his case.”

Robards wrote that down, and then faced Hermione again. “And the other?”

“I’m not really sure,” she admitted. “Thaddeus said he wasn’t a real Auror, but only pretending. He was acting very shady, and Thaddeus said he was certain he was bad news. I don’t know anything else.”

Unfortunately, it was easy to forge an Auror badge, so that second ‘Auror’ could have been anyone. 

“He didn’t happen to mention what this man looked like?” Robards asked. 

Harry found himself leaning forward, trying to listen more closely. If the wizard matched the description of the assailant from the ball… but Hermione crushed those thoughts by replying, “He didn’t know. He just said the wizard must have worn some kind of glamour because as soon as he left, Thaddeus could not recall his appearance at all.”

“Alright,” Robards replied, noting down the information. He glanced briefly at Harry in warning, as he had moved away from the back of the office and closer to the conversation. “What else did Mr Thurkell say?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Thaddeus asked me why I was not with Cho in Scotland.”

“Why would he assume you were there?”

“Apparently Cho is pregnant, and since we were friends, I was supposed to help her until—”

“Did he say where in Scotland Cho was?” Harry interrupted, unable to keep quiet. If Mr Thurkell knew the location… 

Hermione turned around in the chair and looked at Harry. “No, he just asked why I wasn’t in Scotland with Cho since he believed I was supposed to be there until her husband could join her. I don’t know anything more.”

“Her husband?” Harry repeated, his mind going to a piece of paper he had read just the previous day. The list of Malfoy properties included two addresses in Scotland, but it couldn’t be. It was absurd to think that Cho Chang and Draco Malfoy were married. Malfoy was a villain and a bad person! 

However, it did provide a link between Hermione and Malfoy. 

If only those magical records were not classified. He needed to get those records, and then he needed to search the Malfoy properties in Scotland. Once Hermione was safely back at Grimmauld Place Harry would investigate those properties. If Cho was there, he had to find her. 

Looking at his Head, ready to argue for breaking into Registries, he noticed Robards nodding to something Hermione had just said. Unfortunately, Harry had not been paying attention and had no idea what they were talking about, so he focussed on their conversation.

“So after Thurkell left, why did you stay outside?” Robards asked.

“I needed to clear my head,” Hermione replied, and after a moment elaborated, “Thaddeus had provided me with so much new information, and I didn’t want to risk forgetting anything.”

Harry tried his best to follow their conversation, but his mind kept going to the implications of a wedding between Cho and Malfoy. If that was true, then why did no one know about it? A Malfoy wedding was front-page news, but there had been nothing printed, not even a rumour existed. It also didn’t explain why Malfoy was missing or why a killer had targeted Zabini and Hermione. 

Also, why would Lucius Malfoy be so furious at seeing Hermione at the ball? 

Why was this case so difficult? Or was Harry simply too stupid to figure this out? After speaking to Dean the day before, Harry had started to realise just how much he had messed up. Thoughts of Hermione filled his mind, and he was unable to focus on the case, but he still hesitated to give the case, and thus Hermione, up. He _had_ to solve this case!

He glanced down and noticed he still held the file Abercrombie had given him. He’d forgotten about that. Curious about what it could be, he opened the file and found a single piece of paper inside. It appeared to be a magical transcript of an email from DC Davis. All Aurors had Met provided emails, but since the Auror Office didn’t have computers, the emails were received and magically transcribed before they were sent to the Auror Office. 

  
_Inspector Potter,_

_We found CCTV records of the ‘shadow’. It turned out you were right, it was a person, but we have been unable to identify him. Perhaps you recognise him from your own case. I’ve included a screenshot from the CCTV records._

_If you need any of the files we found, we have saved them to the shared folders on the Met drive, so you should be able to pull them directly. The reference number is 69141497114/03SEP05._

_Regards,_

_Detective Constable Anthony Davis_  
  


Eager to see the picture, Harry turned the page over. There was nothing! Either DC Davis had not attached the picture, or it had failed to be transcribed. In Harry’s opinion, it was probably the latter. The transcription was usually good, but it was not perfect. Knowing the Muggles had a photo of the wizard was significant. A photo would be better than a simple description of the wizard. A photo might be the breakthrough. 

He whirled around and moved a step towards the door before he recalled where he was and why. The testimony.

“You are a terrible observer, Potter.”

Turning to face his Head, he noticed both Robards and Hermione were looking at him as if he was acting strangely, which he was. He must have looked like a lunatic because he felt completely out of his mind. 

“The Muggles were able to pull a picture from the CCTV recordings of the murder,” he said, his words rushing out. Only once he said it, did he remember he had not shared the information about Zabini’s death with either of them. 

The look Robards gave him said as much. “Explain.” 

Briefly, he told them about Dean’s case and Zabini’s death. Robards absorbed the information without comment and remained completely expressionless while Hermione sat frozen and the colour drained from her face. 

Moving to her side, he crouched down next to her chair and took her hands. “Are you okay?” he asked, though it was clear she was not. 

She looked shocked and scared, and he couldn’t blame her. She had known her life was in danger, but knowing her assailant was a successful murderer must be terrifying, but still, she held her head high. “No, but if you catch him, I will be.”

“You will head to the Muggle Police now?” Robards asked.

“I…” He hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Hermione alone. She wasn’t safe any place except by his side at Grimmauld Place. He should escort her home and then go to the Muggles. 

“Miss Granger can stay here,” Robards said. “We’ll finish the testimony without you, so she doesn’t have to come back another day, and you really need to get that photo as soon as possible.”

“I would prefer that,” Hermione said, tightening her grip on his hands. 

As Harry looked at her, she looked shaken and nervous, but the way she sat radiated confidence. He would do anything in his power to please her. 

“Alright.” 

Before letting go of her hands, he leaned in, placing a light kiss on her lips.

…

“Inspector Potter, I didn’t expect to see you,” DC Davis said in greeting. “Wasn’t the picture enough to identify the man?”

“I didn’t get the picture,” Harry replied, not about to mention the magical transcription and the picture seemingly getting lost in that. 

“Oh, you couldn’t download it?” the DC asked, and Harry nodded in agreement though he didn’t know what it meant. “Maybe the new firewall was messing up.”

“Yes, probably,” he replied. What did a wall of fire have to do with computers? Did they burn the information? He had no clue what the DC meant; he might as well have been speaking a foreign language for all Harry knew. “Would you be able to show me the picture now?”

“Of course. I’ll print it for you.”

“That would be perfect, thank you.”

While the DC went to print the photo, Harry waited. It felt like hours but must only have been a few minutes. He paced the floor, unable to relax. That picture could be the breakthrough they needed. A photo could be spread, and within hours the entire wizarding population could be on the lookout for the murderer. They might be able to gain more information about him. It felt like the final pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place. 

“Here you go, Inspector,” DC Davis said, holding a piece of paper out to Harry.

With trembling hands, Harry took the paper and looked at the face of a cold-blooded murderer. His blood froze in his veins as he recognised the wizard. But it made no sense, and yet, there could be no doubt about his identity.


	13. Chapter 13

“Thank you for your testimony, Miss Granger,” Robards said as they finally finished recording everything. “I’m sure Auror Potter will be back momentarily.”

Hermione nodded, feeling completely drained. She should probably say something to the kind Head of the Auror Office, but her mind felt sluggish. Talking about the night of the ball had brought the memories of the night of the first attack back as well as the overwhelming fear. Shaking from the strain of it all, she just wanted to go home. Climb into bed and have Harry’s arms around her. 

A loud knock on the door drew their attention. Hoping to see Harry, Hermione turned in her chair to face the door.

“That must be him now,” Robards said gently. “Enter!”

The door opened, and an unknown man put his head through. “Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but the Undersecretary to the Minister is here, and he is quite agitated. More than usual. We can’t get him to calm down or leave without seeing you. It’s quite disruptive.”

“Thank you, Thomas. Tell him—”

A loud crash from the Auror Office made the Auror glance back over his shoulder and wince. 

“What is that Weasley up to now?” Robards asked, his voice agitated. 

“Well, right now he seems to be harassing Langarm,” the Auror replied. “I’ll… eh… I’ll tell him to wait... You don’t have an estimate for when you might be able to see him, do you?”

“Tell him I will see him as soon as I am—”

A loud curse emanating from the Auror Office cut off his words. “You fucking dimwit…”

In her emotionally fragile state, Hermione flinched at the sound, trying not to feel guilty. If she were not taking up all of Robards time, he would be able to deal with the destruction and frustration the Undersecretary was causing. _She_ was the reason why all the Aurors were harassed. 

With a slightly strained voice, she asked, “We were finished?”

As Robards looked from the door to her, his expression softened from anger to something close to admiration. It was only there a moment before he shook his head. “Yes, but I promised Auror Potter to keep you safe, so you wait in here.” 

With more bravado than conviction, she reasoned, “But I could wait just outside. I don’t have to wait in your office.” 

As the yelling from the Auror Office became louder, Robards discerning eyes swept over her, and she added more firmly, “It’s fine!”

After a few moments of consideration, Robards eventually nodded and gave her a smile of appreciation. Then his gaze shifted to the Auror. “Thomas, why don’t you provide Miss Granger with a cup of tea while she waits. The good kind, mind you.”

The Auror looked at her and smiled. “Of course, Sir.”

“And then better send Percy Weasley in while you are at it, so I can hear what is so damn important.” Before she left his office, Robards thanked her for her time and promised they would do all in their power to catch the perpetrator. 

With a weak smile, Hermione left the office with the smiling Auror. Though she didn’t recognise him, there was something about him that was quite soothing. 

“Hi Hermione. Haven’t seen you in ages,” he said as he greeted her, still smiling. 

Unsure how to respond, she just gaped at him, but he seemed not to notice as he turned to the tall red-haired man pacing agitatedly in front of the office. 

“Undersecretary Weasley, you can go in now.” 

The man looked up with an expression that was both indignant and fearful. As she wondered why the Undersecretary needed to speak so urgently with Robards, she followed the Auror to one of the many desks. 

“Sit, sit.” He pulled another chair to the desk. “Do you want tea or coffee?”

“Neither, thank you,” she said as she sat down. She just wanted to go home.

The Auror nodded and took the other chair. “So since you are here anyway would it be alright if I asked you a few questions?”

“You can ask, but I might not be able to answer,” she replied, with a wry smile. At his perplexed expression, she added, “Harry told you of my accident, didn’t he?”

The Auror frowned and looked at her more closely. “No, he did not. What happened? Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine. I was in a traffic accident, and I have no recollection of anything older than the past few weeks.” 

Gaping at her as if she had sprouted a second head, he looked genuinely horrified. But his reaction seemed a bit overly dramatic. “I’m fine now,” she repeated. 

Looking at her as if she was a puzzle he was trying to solve, he said gently, “I’m happy to hear it. This accident didn’t by chance happen to occur on 1 September, did it?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Oh, just something Harry _did_ mention,” the Auror replied, waving her off. His face became clouded, and he seemed lost in thought, staring straight ahead. After a few seconds, his expression cleared, and he smiled at her. “So if you don’t remember anything older than the past few weeks, then you don’t remember me.”

“No.”

“Then allow me to introduce myself. I’m Dean Thomas. We went to Hogwarts together.” He held his hand out to shake.

“A pleasure.” Hermione found herself smiling back, shaking his hand. She decided she liked this Auror; he seemed not only kind but also genuinely concerned about her welfare. “So what exactly did you want to talk to me about?” 

Something substantial must be on his mind because, for a moment, he looked lost in thought again. Then he blinked and focussed on her again. 

“That’s right.” He shuffled through the documents in front of him before picking one up. “On 30 August you reported Draco Malfoy missing, and I’ve been trying to locate him ever since. Do you happen to remember anything about Mr Malfoy?”

“No, nothing. But is Draco Malfoy related to Lucius Malfoy?”

“Draco is Lucius’ son,” Dean replied. “Why do you ask?” Though he asked the question calmly, she noticed his entire attention was caught, and he leaned slightly forward in his chair. 

“The other night, Harry and I joined the Ministry Ball.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Lucius Malfoy was also at the ball, and he stared at me with this extremely hateful expression. Harry mentioned that he and I were on opposite sites during the war, but I wonder if perhaps it has something to do with this Draco person.”

The Auror smiled wryly. “You’ve hit the nail on the head. I am confident Lucius had something to do with his son’s disappearance, but I have been unable to figure out what or why. Did he say or do anything else at the ball?”

Before she could respond, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Assuming it was Harry who had come back, she turned to him with a smile, only to realise the man behind her was a stranger. He had a big grin on his face, but where Dean’s smile had seemed genuine, this man’s did not. Something about him set her hair on end.

“Can I help you?” Dean asked, looking at the man with a curious expression. 

“I just wanted to see Hermione here.”

Hermione froze. It was him! The wizard who had attacked her that night and who had tried to kidnap her at the Ministry Ball. How had he found her here? Hopefully, he didn’t realise she knew who he was. Trying not to let her panic show, but knowing she had to get away, she looked around desperately for an escape. Her chair was too close to the table in front of her to allow for an easy way out. 

Despite her best intentions, tears of frustration and distress flooded her eyes. 

She had to alert Dean. He was her only hope—

She must have given herself away because the wizard behind her quickly released her shoulder and instead grabbed her throat in a tight grip. Hard enough for her vision to blacken at the edges. 

She tried to slam her head back, but only hit his stomach, so she tried to scratch at his arms, but he held on. 

She saw Dean jump to his feet and point his wand at the man behind her. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

At the same time, a loud commotion at the entrance of the Auror Office drew Dean’s attention. 

“Step away from her!” Harry bellowed. She couldn’t see him, but he had to have just arrived. 

“Harry,” she called, but her voice came out no louder than a whisper. She started to see stars as her vision blurred. The strong hold on her throat kept oxygen from her mind, and yet she wouldn’t give up. She pushed at the table in front of her with her legs, trying to force the chair she was in to fall backwards, catching the wizard by surprise. Her chair wobbled a bit, but she couldn’t flip them. She didn’t have the strength. She couldn’t summon enough air.

_Help me!_ she begged, but no sound escaped her lips. 

Her vision turned darker and darker until everything became black, and she passed out. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hear you don't like cliffhangers... I would never have guessed :P

Merlin, he had placed her right in the middle of danger! 

Trying to keep Hermione safe, Harry had put her in the most dangerous place. He should have realised the Auror Office was not safe, but he had never once imagined the assailant was an Auror. The Aurors were the good guys! They didn’t go around murdering people! 

How had Harry managed to fuck up this badly? Cursing under his breath, he rushed back to the Ministry. How in the hell had he not realised the assailant was an Auror. A friend, someone he _trusted_. It took a second to settle, but the betrayal felt like a Cruciatus straight to the chest, and he grunted at the impact. It was unbelievable. Yet, now that he thought about it, there had been clues, but he had been too blind to see them.

The Ball? Dean, who was the best tracker in the Auror team and one of the fastest wizards, _had_ reached the Atrium to cut the assailant off, they just hadn’t known it. And the description of the assailant was a pure fabrication to throw dirt in their eyes. Shit, he had even seemed so genuinely interested in Hermione’s well-being yesterday, but it had been only a ruse to get Harry to talk. 

Seamus fucking Finnigan!

Oh, the man had been a terrific actor, but why the hell was he behind it? What did he have to gain from attacking Hermione and Zabini? 

The fury at the betrayal was eclipsed only by his sheer fear for Hermione’s life. Frantic to reach the Ministry before Finnigan realised the game was up, Harry hardly cared whether Muggles saw him perform magic. Keeping Hermione safe was imperative and overruled the need for secrecy. Hermione was the only thing that mattered, and he was furious at himself for placing her in danger.

Robards was right, he had been emotionally compromised from the start, and his inability to get anything right now risked Hermione’s life. He was such a fool! Hopefully, he would not be too late. 

Bursting through the doors of the Auror Office, not a care for the disturbance he created, he took in the scene before him. Where was Hermione? The door to Robards’ office was still closed. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was not too late. She was still safe. 

He took two steps towards the office before he realised he should grab the bastard instead. Arrest him and throw him to the Dementors, before he even realised Harry was on to him. Now, where was Finnigan—

_Damn it all to hell!_

White-hot fury burnt through him as he saw Hermione struggling in Finnigan’s clutches. The bastard was strangling her! He raised his wand but didn’t have a clear shot. He needed to do _something_ , stop him from harming Hermione. 

“Step away from her!” The yell was loud, and in passing, Harry noticed every Auror in the Office turn to him, but his eyes were only on Hermione. For a brief moment, she froze at his voice, but then she seemed to double her efforts to break free. She was fighting valiantly, but the bastard was choking the life out of her! Why was no one helping her? Fucking Aurors! Harry fought his way closer to get a clear shot, one where he didn’t risk hitting her. 

Knowing the shot would never hit, Harry still cast a Stunner at Finnigan, it hit somewhere left of them, but it seemed to bring the Aurors out of their paralysis, as they jumped to their feet, shouting, raising the wands. 

Hermione was still struggling. He could see her plan and applauded her for her creativity, but he also saw her weakness. She could barely move the chair, and as he watched, her body seemed to fall in on itself, as she fell unconscious. 

Turning to Harry, the bastard grinned. _Grinned!_

Bastard! 

The door to Robards office was thrown up, and the fearsome Head of the Auror Office emerged. “What the hell is going on?” 

Robards’ bellow quieted the noise in the Auror Office, but Harry hardly noticed. Two more steps and he would be in line to get Finnigan. The Stunner left his wand, rushing directly at Finnigan, who lazily deflected it, and it hit Dean instead. Dean, with his wand raised and ready to cast, slumped to the ground unconscious. 

With the words of a new spell on the tip of his tongue, Harry saw Finnigan’s grin widen, and he yelled something, a Latin phrase. The words didn’t make sense. It wasn’t a spell that Harry knew. 

As Harry’s spell left the tip of his wand, time almost seemed to slow down, as Finnigan had used a Portkey and in the blink of an eye he disappeared from view with Hermione. 

No, no, no. This could not be happening!

Despair and shock rushed through Harry, as he ran forward to where he had last seen her. Praying it had not been a Portkey. The phrase Finnigan had yelled could not have been a Portkey activation phrase! By some miracle, let Finnigan have figured out how to apparate from the Auror Office instead! 

Because apparition left a small imprint, it could be tracked… a Portkey could not. The only way of tracking a Portkey was to have the Portkey itself and disassemble the spells. 

Please, let there be an imprint! 

There was no imprint. 

Hermione was… gone? No, she couldn’t be! He could still do something! He had to rescue her. He had to… 

Where would Finnigan take her? He had to figure it out so he could save her. But he still didn’t understand everything. Bloody hell!

There was a moment of stunned disbelief in the Auror Office. It was eerie quiet, and no one moved, everyone seemed to be holding their breaths. Waiting for something.

“What happened?” The familiar voice of the Head of the Auror Office sounded just behind Harry. 

“It was Finnigan,” Harry spat, his voice breaking with fury and despair. “He tried to kill Hermione. Succeeded in killing Zabini! At the ball, it was all Finnigan! He’s a traitor...” At his proclamation, shouts of disbelief exploded in the Office. None of them could imagine their colleague being a turncoat. 

In his hands, Harry still held the picture he got from DC Davis. He held it out to Robards, who took it. “That was pulled from the Muggle CCTV records of Blaise Zabini’s death. Finnigan murdered him!” He stabbed the picture angrily. 

Robards looked between the picture and Harry. Then his face went dark, and he turned to face the Auror Office at large. All eyes were on Robards, as he yelled angrily, “Your new mission is to locate Seamus Finnigan, arrest him, and rescue Miss Granger! Consider Finnigan armed and dangerous. Use force if necessary!”

“How are we supposed to track a Portkey?” Langarm questioned. 

It was a reasonable question, but Harry was not in a reasonable mood, and he was just about to inform Langarm what he thought of his input when Robards said, “Langarm, you are now in charge of finding out how. Go to the Department of Mysteries if you have to.”

Langarm looked ready to argue the futility of the task, but one look at Robards’ stormy face and he meekly said, “Yes, Sir,” and rushed out the doors.

With the same swiftness, Robards deployed two other Aurors to break into the bastard’s flat. “Bring a curse-breaker for the charms and prepare for traps. Secure the premises,” he called after the Aurors as they quickly left to carry out the order. 

Robards eyes finally located the unconscious form of Dean Thomas on the ground. He bent and cast the counter-charm on the fallen Auror. 

“What—” 

Dean started to say something but was quickly cut off by Robards. “Where would Finnigan take Miss Granger?”

Harry helped Dean to his feet. He did feel partly responsible, as it was his spell that had knocked Dean out, but if Dean had not hesitated. Why the fuck had he just stood there and not cast a Stunner at Finnigan the moment he grabbed Hermione? It was all Dean’s fault! No, he couldn’t blame Dean. It was all Harry’s fault. _He_ was the one who had risked Hermione’s life. _He_ was the one who had fucked up this case so badly. 

“Ehm… Perhaps...” Dean began, but cut himself off as all eyes in the Auror Office turned to him.

“Speak up, Thomas!” 

“Perhaps… that is… He might take her to Lucius Malfoy?” 

“Are you guessing or knowing?” Robards bellowed.

Dean stood a little straighter, and said in a firm voice, “I am positive that Lucius Malfoy kidnapped his own son. Zabini and Hermione reported Draco as missing, leading us to investigate. Now Zabini is dead, and Hermione is… well,” he briefly glanced at Harry. “I’m certain Malfoy is behind it.”

Robards didn’t look wholly convinced, but Harry was. There was still one thing that didn’t add up though. 

“But why is Seamus involved?” Abercrombie voiced the question on everyone’s mind. It made no sense for Finnigan to work for Lucius Malfoy. 

Considering for just a moment, Dean sneered, “Money.” 

When everyone looked at him in surprise, he elaborated, “His mother was taken to a private clinic in Germany. Do you have any idea how expensive those are? His family is not rich; he’s the one supporting his mother and sisters after their father died. He can’t afford to pay for a private clinic, and he’s not been picking up any overtime work. I’d have seen him around here if he had.”

That… made sense and Harry felt extremely furious with himself. He knew Finnigan’s mother was sick, and yet he had never questioned how they could afford to send her to a private clinic. He had known about it for weeks and never once had he questioned it. For weeks Finnigan had been working against them, helping to keep Lucius Malfoy’s plot secret—

“Your evidence!” he cried as he turned to face Dean again.

“Sorry?” 

Grabbing Dean by the arm, almost shaking him. “The bastard burnt your evidence deliberately to throw you off.”

Dean’s expression turned from confused to angry within the blink of an eye. “Asshole! But he couldn’t have known the records would be classified before I could get replacements.”

“Maybe he could,” Robards interjected angrily. 

“How?” Dean asked before Harry could. “We don’t have the authority.”

“No, but the Minister does. That was what Undersecretary Weasley was here about. I found out the classification of both your files lead back to the Minister, but he denied all knowledge of it. Weasley informed me that they found signs of the Imperius on the Minister as well as False Memories. They want us to investigate how someone could get close enough to the Minister to attack him. As the Minister is a former Auror himself, it had to have been a surprise attack by a strong wizard, who was not considered a threat…”

“Merlin!” Harry couldn’t believe it. “But when would Finnigan even have been close enough to the Minister to be able to do it?”

Robards looked from Harry to Dean with a pointed look. “Was Finnigan ever alone with the Minister on the St Mungo’s tour?”

Dean paled, as he nodded. “There was one time. There was a commotion outside, and I went to investigate while Seamus watched the Minister. Alone.”

The implication was unsettling, and no one spoke for a moment. 

Malfoy had ordered the murders and the attack on the Minister, and Finnigan had jumped to comply. Fucking bastards the both of them. Harry would find them, and then he would kill them, rip them apart limb for limb. He would make them suffer like they had made her suffer, and then he would make them face the Dementor’s Kiss! 

But he still didn’t know where they had taken her. Bloody hell!


	15. Chapter 15

The first thing she noticed as she came to was the piercing pain shooting through her body. The next thing she noticed was that she was lying on a cold and hard stone floor. Knowing she was no longer in the Auror Office made her sit up quickly and look around. Her tongue felt swollen, her throat hurt, and she had a difficult time catching her breath. Every intake of air hurt, but she had to push through it. _Don’t give up!_

Rising to her feet slowly, she looked around for an escape. Behind her and on two sides were stone walls. In front of her were thick iron bars, rising vertically from floor to the ceiling and horizontal from wall to wall. A dungeon. A prison cell. Surprisingly, she couldn’t see a door in the iron wall, but beyond the wall, she could see a passageway lit by the torches on the wall. Unable to determine where the passage led, she moved closer to the iron wall, pushing her face close to the bars, trying to see as far as possible. The flickering light of the torches lit the passageway as far as she could see, and cast eerie shadows on the walls. 

She didn’t know where she was, but she knew she was in deep, deep trouble. She was caught and just waiting to be killed. 

She was terrified, scared out of her wits. She had no idea how to get out of this mess, but she would not give up. There had to be a way to escape. 

Grabbing the bars in front of her, she shook them hard, trying to determine if it was possible to shake them loose. The criss-cross pattern of the iron bars made them immovable. With a curse, she let go and walked to the stone wall, trying to look for a weakness in the wall that might lead to an escape. There was nothing. No means of escape. 

“Is anyone there?” an unknown voice asked. The voice sounded strained and was hardly above a whisper. It seemed to come from somewhere to the left of her, but she was uncertain as the voice seemed to bounce off the stone walls. 

“Hello?” she replied, listening intently for a reply.

She heard something that sounded like movement, and the voice was marginally louder as it said, “I thought I was going crazy, hearing voices, but you are truly here! Wait, why are you here?” The voice came from the cell beside her. 

“Who are you? Are you a prisoner here too?” 

“Hermione.” He sounded puzzled. “It’s me, Draco.”

She shook her head in confusion but recalled what the Auror had said. “Are you Draco _Malfoy_?” Draco might be a common name, how was she to know. 

The basement was painfully quiet for what felt like minutes, and yet there was no response. Why had he suddenly quieted? She couldn’t imagine what had happened to him, since he turned quiet so suddenly.

“Hermione, tell me you know who I am.”

“Ehm… not really, no,” she admitted. “But if you _are_ Draco Malfoy then the Auror said you’ve been missing since 30 August. Why are you here?”

Again, a long pause before he said anything. “Why would an Auror… I think you need to tell me everything that has happened.” His voice was low and firm. 

So she explained. She told him about waking up at the hospital after the accident, not knowing anything. She talked about how Harry had helped her—

“Hang on,” Draco interrupted swiftly. “Potter is helping you? Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s my friend and an Auror,” she replied, confused. 

The loud snort from the other cell confused her. She knew Harry was her friend, so why was Draco acting so surprised by it. Did he even know her? She was about to ask, when he said, “You were friends once upon a time, but for the past five or six years, he’s been ignoring your presence. He was a prick and hurt you badly.”

“But…” 

“Did he say you were friends? You can’t trust anything he says.” 

That was a lie! It had to be because the man she knew from the past many weeks was loyal, caring, and good. He wasn’t a liar. “Perhaps you are mistaken.” Even to her own ears, she sounded shaken. It was madness even to think it, but what if Draco was telling the truth? No, she had to believe Harry. He _was_ her friend, and perhaps even something more. 

“You and I really are friends. _You_ told me this years ago.” He sounded so earnest that she couldn’t believe he was lying, but she also could not believe that Harry had lied. 

“I…” she began, but she couldn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t bring herself to believe Harry had lied. But if… If Harry had lied, then there had to be a reason for it. These last many weeks had to have meant something to him too. She couldn’t be the only one affected. No, it didn’t make sense. She trusted Harry!

“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Draco said gently. His voice soothed her turbulent thoughts. “Why don’t you tell me what else happened? Do you know if Cho is alright?”

“Cho?” she repeated. She didn’t know much about the woman. “Thaddeus said she was in Scotland and Harry couldn’t locate her. Oh, and she is pregnant.”

“That last part I knew,” Draco grinned. “But it sounds like the protections are holding then. If the Aurors cannot locate her, then hopefully neither can anyone else.”

“Why is it a good thing that she is lost?”

“She’s not lost, I know exactly where she is, but I’m not the Secret Keeper, so my father cannot learn the information from me. He even tried using the Imperius on me, but it didn’t work. I could not lead him to her.”

“But why is your father trying to find her?”

“He will not accept her as my wife.”

“Oh, but that seems…” she cut herself off as a door slammed somewhere in the basement. 

The man from the ball, Lucius Malfoy, stepped toward her cell. His expression was one of friendliness, but there was something in his eyes that made her step back in fear. Her apparent fright just made his smile widen. “Welcome, my dear. Tell me where the Chink is hiding, and no harm will come to you.”

She didn’t understand what he was talking about, but even if she did, she would never tell him anything. 

“Don’t talk about my wife in that derogatory term,” Draco yelled, shaking the bars in his cell. 

The man’s attention shifted from Hermione to Draco. “You are no son of mine. You are useless,” he hissed, “but the Mudblood will finally be able to guide us to that half-blood you have seen fit to exalt by your atrocious marriage.”

“Cho is my wife!” Draco yelled back. “Hermione is my friend! Both deserve more respect than—”

“Your opinion doesn’t matter anymore,” Malfoy interrupted, and continued with icy arrogance. “No one of Malfoy blood would ever bring us such shame by allying with a half-blood. Once I have taken care of your unfortunate marriage, you can marry Bulstrode’s daughter as you were supposed to.”

“I will never cooperate!”

“You will,” Malfoy replied, no doubt in his belief. “And the only people who know about the marriage are either dead or in this room, except for the Chink of course, but I will get to her too, and then I will be able to cover your stupidity entirely.”

“What have you done?” Draco asked, horrified.

“My little pet was able to hide your indiscretion and take care of the problems that arose in the Auror Office. No one but the people who attended your wedding knows about it, and soon it will be as if it never happened. Luckily there was only the registrar, the two witnesses, and of course the unfortunate couple. The registrar is dead, Zabini is dead, and the Mudblood is here. She will die soon, and then there is only you and the Chink left for me to deal with.”

“You sick bastard,” Draco yelled. 

“Do you want to know how they died?” Lucius’ eyes glinted with merriment, as he cruelly explained. “The registrar was hit with an Avada. It appeared the Aurors found out, so we decided to be more careful. Your friend, Zabini, was murdered in Muggle London. Imperiused to jump off a bridge and the Muggles wrote it off as a suicide. Who knew Muggles could be so beneficial to our cause. The Mudblood has been the most difficult to catch, but she is here now. We’ll probably have to burn her remains to hide the torture though.”

“What torture?” Hermione whispered, trying to hide her terror. 

Malfoy turned from his son to face her with an evil smile. She reared back from his hateful expression. Oh, why did her curiosity have to make her ask! 

“That comes next. You can make this easy for yourself and we’ll simply Avada you. Quick and easy death or you can make this hard, and we will respond in kind. Just tell me where my useless son hid the half-blood?”

She scowled, giving him her hardest stare. She wanted to scream her defiance at him, but she was so scared, she didn’t trust her own voice. 

“Mr Malfoy,” the Auror spoke up. She hadn’t seen when he had joined them. “Potter mentioned that Granger is suffering from amnesia. Asking for the information will not work.”

Malfoy turned around to face the Auror. He sounded almost excited as he said, “Then we will not waste time asking. We’ll break her mind open instead and grab the information.”

...

“You don’t have to do this.” Hermione tried to keep her voice from shaking, as she spoke to the traitorous Auror, who stood as their guard. 

The elder Malfoy had left the basement to get _something._ She didn’t know what exactly, but it could not be anything good. Whatever it was, she knew, they would use it to kill her, so she had to be gone before Malfoy returned. Time truly was running out. If she could just convince the Auror to stop helping Malfoy then—

“Shut up,” the Auror said tonelessly. He leaned against the wall, his posture relaxed, but his eyes alert. 

Leaning against the bars, keeping her imprisoned, Hermione tried to appear harmless, as she desperately tried to reason with the Auror. “I’m sure the Aurors will understand, so if you just help us—”

“They can’t help.” He looked at her, and though his eyes did not show the same hatred or insanity that Malfoy’s did, there was a resolute gleam. She knew he wouldn’t listen to her pleas, but she could not give up. She had to keep trying, and maybe she could find just the right words to persuade him.

“Sure, they can. If you just let Draco and me go; we will help you. We will tell the Aurors of your help...”

The Auror sighed and shook his head with a resigned smile. When he spoke, his voice sounded almost kind. “I can’t go back. The only outcome of turning myself in is death.”

“Why?” The question came from Draco, and it was the first time he spoke up. Apparently, he was still listening, even if he did not believe the Auror would release them. Perhaps he was right that this was useless. No, don’t give up!

The Auror turned to Draco with a shrug as he replied, “I’ve used all three of the Unforgivables, and as you know, one is enough to earn a one-way ticket to Azkaban.”

“I’m sure we can still help you,” Hermione interjected. 

The Auror appeared quite rational, so why would he give up his life as a protector of the innocent to work for a stark raving mad wizard. No, he could be convinced to turn back. There had to be some good in him; he was after all an Auror. 

“If you help us—”

Abruptly, the Auror leapt in front of her, almost within reach, his face cracked in anger. The surprise of his movement shocked her, and she automatically took a step back, almost glad for the bars separating them. “Don’t you realise I’m a murderer and I would have killed you too had you not been hit by that car? I actually thought that car killed you, but no matter. I will take care of it today, and then I will kill Cho once we know where she is hiding.” 

“I’ll kill you first,” Draco spat, shaking the bars of the cell in his anger. 

The Auror laughed, and the harsh sound terrified her, but she still had to believe that she could convince him. If she gave up, it would mean accepting her fate, and she was not ready to die. 

“You don’t have to do it.” 

“I do, actually. I don’t have a choice in the matter. Not anymore.”

“Why?” Of course, he had a choice! Everyone had a choice. 

For the first time, his expression showed a trace of uneasiness. “My Mom’s sick. Nasty shock when we found out, and then the only hospital in the world that might be able to help her was a private clinic in Germany. Couldn’t afford it, but Mr Malfoy could. He provided the money for long-term care but only for a price, so now I have to perform my part of the vow.”

She still didn’t comprehend how that meant he didn’t have a choice, but the sharp intake of breath from the cell next to her indicated that Draco understood. “You did an Unbreakable Vow. With my father. Are you insane?” 

The Auror shrugged and walked towards Draco’s cell. She could barely see him through the bars, but she could hear their conversation. “It was the only way to get Mom’s treatment started, and you know the lengths one goes to protect one’s family.” 

“What’s an Unbreakable Vow?” she asked, still not understanding what they were talking about. 

It was sheer defiance that stopped her retreating as the Auror swung back to her, radiating anger and hatred. The fury in his eyes was so overwhelming. Even with the bars between them, he scared her. “What don’t you understand? If I don’t perform my part of the vow, it will kill me. I cannot break it.”

“But—”

“No matter what you suggest, I cannot go back. I chose my path, and I have to stick to it!” 

She flinched as reality set in; there was nothing to do, she could not escape, and she would die in this cell. Her hands felt numb as they clung to the bars. Her vision began to blur as the cell began to spin around her. 

“Ah, it is so refreshing with minions who knows their duty,” Malfoy’s harsh voice said, as he walked into the basement again, this time accompanied by a woman. Something about the way the woman moved seemed unnatural. Like she was sleepwalking. 

“Mom?” Draco whispered in shock, but then he cried out loudly, “Mom!”

The woman didn’t respond. Remaining stoic, looking straight ahead, she didn’t even bat an eye at Draco’s outburst. No signs of recognition at all. She just stood there, unmoving and unaware of the world around her.

With a ruthless smile, Malfoy turned to the woman. “Find the information in the Mudblood’s mind about where our useless son is hiding Cho Chang.”

As if she heard his command, the woman stirred. Slowly, she turned her glassy eyes towards Hermione. The woman’s unblinking eyes were fixed on her, as she took a step forward and then another, making Hermione retreat in alarm. 

“Mom, stop! What are you doing?” Draco’s screams penetrated Hermione’s fear, but the woman still ignored him, walking closer and closer toward Hermione. 

“Stop the fussing,” Malfoy hissed at his son, but the woman also stopped moving, again standing perfectly still. “Narcissa is entirely under my control.”

With a sharp intake of air, Draco muttered, just loudly enough for Hermione to hear, “The Imperius.” Malfoy gave him a wicked smile but didn’t comment. “You sick bastard! You’ve kept Mom imprisoned here while letting me believe she was dead!”

“She tried to leave me a few years ago. We can’t have that. Family stays together,” Malfoy reasoned. 

“You are insane!”

Ignoring his son, Malfoy turned to the Auror. “Finnigan, it’s time to break the Mudblood.”

With a nod, the Auror stepped forward and cast a spell, making a door materialise in the bars to Hermione’s cell. With long strides and a blank look on his face, he walked into the cell and then raised his wand at Hermione. Without hesitation, he yelled, “ _Crucio_!”

Bloody fucking hell! Hot searing pain shot through her, setting her nerve-endings alight with red-hot fire. Her head smacked against the stone floor, causing more pain, excruciating pain and her vision blurred. 

She lost all sense of time, and could not say how long she was under the curse, but it felt like a lifetime. Screaming in agony, her throat felt raw. When the spell was finally released, she found herself collapsed on the stone floor, sobbing and twitching uncontrollably. 

Dragging vast gulps of air into her lungs, she fought desperately not to give in to the darkness at the edge of her vision. 

Sounds penetrated her dazed mind, and she heard Draco cursing his father and the Auror. With dread, she recalled where she was and why. 

The pain would only get worse.

“It will stop if you tell us where the Chink is hiding,” Malfoy informed her acidly. 

She knew he was lying. Drawing deep shuddering breaths, and with a body that still shook, she tried to hide her terror behind a mask of scorn. “Screw you.”

“Disappointing, but unsurprising for the Mudblood. Narcissa, use legilimency to find the information about where Draco hid Chang. Whatever shields the Mudblood has on her mind, should be weakened after the Crucio. Break them.”

Hermione could not see the woman, but she heard footsteps approaching, and instinctively tried to roll away, but with no success. The woman crouched beside Hermione, and with a hand under her chin, she forced Hermione’s head up. As their eyes connected, the woman said, “ _Legilimency_.” 

Her mind erupted in pain like someone was trying to chop her brain into pieces using long needles, piercing through her eyes. Nothing could have prepared her for the agony of having the woman rip through her mind. 

But then slowly, the pain receded, and Hermione felt only a bearable pounding in her head. She could still feel the woman in her mind, but the invasion felt more gentle. With effort, Hermione managed to focus on the memories the woman looked at. Surprisingly, it was of the conversation with Draco when she was placed in the cell and when the woman was brought into the basement. Why would the woman be interested in those memories?

Finally, the woman withdrew, and Hermione blinked back the tears in her eyes. The woman looked at her, but her expression was no longer blank. She seemed alert, and the look in her eyes was contemplative, speculative. 

“One mind magic cancelled the other,” the woman murmured. Whatever spell had held her imprisoned had broken. 

“Did you locate the information,” Malfoy asked harshly. 

The woman flinched slightly, not enough for the others to see, but because Hermione watched her face, she saw how the muscles around her mouth tightened. 

“No.” 

“Disappointing. Again, Mr Finnigan. She must have stronger defences then.”

Hermione, knowing the pain would come, clenched her mouth shut. She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t—

Oh, Motherfucker! The pain was even worse the second time around. The pain overwhelmed her and combined with her pounding head. Time stopped, and there was only pain. _Please, make it stop! I can’t… I can’t. Make it stop!_

And then something happened in her mind. 

Like an elastic breaking, her mind expanded tenfold, hundredfold. Memories came rushing back so fast she could not keep up. Decades worth of memories flooded her mind, and she felt dizzy trying to understand. Her body was showered in pain, her mind exploding, and she could do nothing but scream and wish for death. She didn’t know how much more she could take. She knew she would rather end up like Neville’s parents than give any of Cho’s secrets away. 

She didn’t even notice when the spell was released, because the pain lingered and her body shook in aftershocks. 

When the pain finally eased, she found herself looking into the eyes of the woman once more. Trying to brace for the invasion, she was surprised when it didn’t come. 

Blinking, she looked up at Narcissa Malfoy, who gave her a small smile. Narcissa Malfoy was smiling at her? She had trouble focusing on anything except the memories rushing past, trying to make sense of the confusion. 

“Can you take the Auror?” Narcissa whispered. Her voice so quiet Hermione had to strain to hear it.

 _What?_ she asked, or she thought she asked, but no sound escaped her lips. Had she heard right? But the question didn’t make sense. The meaning was utterly lost on her. 

“If I lure the Auror close, can you take him out?” she clarified in a whisper.

Trying to make sense of everything in her mind, Hermione focussed on Narcissa. What did she know? Narcissa Malfoy, a Death Eater’s wife, who had helped Harry against Voldemort, who had been missing for the past few years, who was Draco’s beloved mother, who was trying to help her now. Narcissa Malfoy, currently an ally. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied in a croaked voice. She wasn’t even confident she could lift her hand anymore. 

“Narcissa, did you find the information?” Lucius Malfoy, feared Death Eater, hated father, kidnapped Draco, would murder Cho if given a chance, mastermind behind the death of Blaise and the attack on her. Lucius Malfoy, enemy. 

For some reason, Narcissa seemed to want to help her against Lucius. Not sure if she would get another chance, Hermione gave a tiny nod. 

Narcissa gave her a kind smile before she lifted her head. “No.” Her voice was loud and clear, but it didn’t seem like the others noticed. “I think the Auror destroyed her. I cannot enter her mind.”

“Already? The Mudblood should last longer. And they called her the brightest witch of her age. Ha! Finnigan, check the Mudblood.”

Hermione lay completely still, knowing she only had one chance. She kept her eyes closed, but could hear as Seamus Finnigan walked closer and closer. Seamus Finnigan, fellow Gryffindor, friend… no, not friend, working with Malfoy, killed Blaise, and would kill her. Seamus Finnigan, enemy. 

Hopefully, he planned to use one of the mind-spells that required the wand’s tip to touch the victim’s head. She needed to find a way to escape, and her best bet was for them to believe she was no longer a threat, but she really needed a wand. Hopefully, she could get Seamus’. If she could get him close enough, she might be able to surprise him and grab the wand from his hands. 

With his boot, he kicked her side, but after the Cruciatus, this pain was nothing. She didn’t respond. 

“Looks like she is breathing but unresponsive.”

“Then revive her!” Malfoy screamed savagely. “I want that information!”

“Yes, Sir,” Seamus replied and crouched down beside her. 

This would be her chance! She kept her eyes closed, waiting. She needed to be sure he had his wand out before she did anything. 

But with her eyes closed, she couldn’t see anything. It wouldn’t work! She had to know what was happening, or she could not plan her attack. 

Opening her eyes, she saw Seamus crouched next to her with his wand drawn. He was looking at her, but when their eyes connected, he froze for a moment, taken aback. Without further consideration, she jumped to her feet quickly and slammed into his, catching him off guard and causing him to fall backwards, his head hitting the bars in the process. 

Hoping Narcissa would deal with Malfoy, she focused solely on Seamus. Her surprise attack had momentarily caught him off guard, but he was an Auror, trained in battle, and he was back on his feet within moments. His eyes glued to Hermione, ready for combat. 

“Ah, the little bitch wants to fight,” he taunted. 

Whatever else he might be, he was still an Auror, a trained fighting machine, while she was an office worker, who had not seen regular fighting since the war. She had only the element of surprise on her side, while he had brute force and a wand. 

However, he was also a wizard used to fighting with his wand. And what was it Harry had said? Wizards didn’t fight in close combat; they relied on their wands too much. Her only chance would be to get up in his personal space. 

Without considering her actions too carefully, she launched herself at him, knocking him back. She hated him for everything he had put her through, for everything he had put her friends through, for killing Blaise! Her hatred felt almost like a living thing trying to claw its way out of her to get to him. 

Hissing, scratching and biting like a cat, she attacked him. He howled in pain as her nails scratched the soft skin around his eye hard enough to draw blood. When he tried to push her off him, she bit down hard on his hand. 

Still, he didn’t give up. He swung his wand arm around to hex her, but he could not aim accurately in his position, and the spell hit the wall behind her. 

That seemed to penetrate her fog of hatred as she knew the wand was the really dangerous obstacle. But what else could she do? What else had Harry said? Hitting an opponent with fists. No, the heel of her palm! 

Immediately, she drew back her hand and rotated in her hip to strike him hard in the face. He yelled in pain, while blood broke from his nose. His hands flew up, trying to protect his face from more of her attacks, while also attempting to push her off him. His wand fell from his loosened grip and rolled to the floor. 

As her eyes followed the wand, Seamus was fast. Released from her assault, he rammed his shoulder against her, making her lose her footing and stumble. The pain of the impact momentarily made her lose her focus. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but it was all it took. He looked around, searching for the wand. 

They saw it at the same time, but she was closer. Without hesitating, she lunged for it, reaching it just a moment before Seamus. She was not fast with her sore body and cramping muscles, and Seamus reached around her and grabbed the thin piece of wood in her hands. 

Trying to wring it from the other’s grapes, neither would release their hold on it and eventually, the wand was held between them with one end pointing at her and the other end pointing at him. As he managed to wrestle one of her hands off the wand, she knew she was out of options. Yet, she refused to give up. 

Not knowing which end of the wand she held, she did the only thing she could think off and screamed, “ _Stupefy_!”

Time seemed to stop, as she prayed, the wand was pointing at him. Suddenly red light burst from the wand, and the spell sent them both reeling back from the closeness of the impact. 

As she found herself lying on the floor, conscious and clutching the wand in her hands, she sighed in relief. It was over—

“Hermione!” Draco sounded agitated, and his voice cut through her satisfaction. 

It was _not_ over. 

Rising as fast as she could, she saw the unconscious body on the floor, but outside her cell, the battle was still raging. From what she could determine, Draco had managed to grab one of Malfoy’s arms, while Narcissa tried to wrestle him for the wand. Unfortunately, it looked like she would fail. As Hermione watched them, unsure how to help, Malfoy pulled his arm out of Draco’s hold and swung around to face Narcissa. His wand rose, and within the blink of an eye, Narcissa fell to the floor. 

Realising she had to do something, she raised her wand and pointed it at Malfoy, but before she managed to send a hex at him, he was already facing her, screaming, “ _Avada Kedavra_!”

The green light rushed towards her. Frozen in fear, her breath caught in her throat and her mind blank, as she knew there was no way to protect against that spell. It flew towards her, getting closer and closer, and just as it reached the bars of the cell, it impacted one of them in a loud explosion, sending small iron projectiles raining through the air. 

Based on the immediate pain, she knew the metallic shards had hit her, but she didn’t have time to check. She was still alive, but if she didn’t do something _now_ , she would not be for long. 

Practically sprinting to the newly formed hole in the bars, she poked the wand through. With her arm shaking, she called a small prayer for aim and yelled, “ _Stupefy_!”

The red light sailed smoothly and unobstructed through the air, hitting Malfoy in the shoulder, knocking him out and he fell to the floor. 

Releasing the breath she didn’t know she was holding, she slumped against the bars. For just a moment, she could relax, but she needed the support of the bars to remain standing. She was tired and hurting, her body was shaking, her head pounded, and she could see blood ticking down her hand and seeping through her pants. 

It was finally over.

A noise from behind her made her swing around, almost losing her footing. Seamus was still on the ground, but he was stirring. With a fearful look at him, she knew the Stunner must already be wearing off. 

“ _Petrificus Totalus_!” she yelled, and he went stiff as a board. Just for good measure, she also added, “ _Incarcerous_!” 

She watched in pleasure as thick rope materialised and wound tightly around the traitorous Auror, keeping him securely imprisoned. She had to do the same to Malfoy, but she didn’t dare cast from his distance. The first shot was lucky, but a second shot would probably hit either Narcissa or Draco.

The magical door to her cell was still open, but it was so far away. On shaking legs, she slowly moved towards it. Every step hurt, and she hissed in pain, but after what felt like a marathon distance, she found herself standing over Malfoy’s prone body. 

“ _Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous_!” 

After ensuring he could no longer harm them, she looked up and saw Draco. He looked so far away, but when her vision finally cleared, she knew something was wrong. His eyes held alarm. 


	16. Chapter 16

There was only one logical location for where they would take Hermione; Malfoy Manor. It was the only property still registered in Lucius Malfoy’s name and thus the only place where he could set and control the protective charms. That had to be it! But even with curse-breakers on the Auror team sent there, breaking through the charms and curses took a long time. By the time they finally shattered the final curses more than an hour had passed since Hermione had been kidnapped. Quickly, they set up their own Anti-Apparition Charm to ensure the bad guys could not escape. 

Rushing through Malfoy Manor, his mind was solely on Hermione. Merlin, if she had been harmed…! Harry swore he would kill Finnigan and Malfoy, and then he’d find a way to resurrect them so that he could kill them again. 

When he finally burst through the doors to the basement, the sight that met him would forever be burned into his mind. Having feared arriving too late, he was elated to see Hermione alive. She looked terrible, blood oozing down her face from a big gash on her temple, her hand completely covered in blood that seemed to come from deep cuts on her arm, her clothes ripped. 

Merlin, there was so much blood.

Her legs were visibly shaking, and it looked like she was only standing thanks to bars behind her. Her eyes looked blank and haunted. After a few long moments, she seemed to recognise him, and she exhaled loudly. Wanting to ensure she was well, he rushed to her. Because his entire focus was on her, he saw the exact moment her eyes rolled back in her head, and her legs gave out under her. He caught her just before she hit the ground. 

A glance around the basement and he noticed Narcissa Malfoy on the ground, while Robards was kneeling beside her, talking to Draco Malfoy, who was in a cell. 

The two bastards were lying on the ground all tied up. Harry wanted to beat the life out of them right then and there. Kill them, rip them apart! He wanted to make them suffer… But as he looked at the unconscious woman in his arms, he realised there was something more important than vengeance. 

Her. 

She was the only thing that truly mattered, and her safety was much more important than his revenge. He had already taken two steps towards the stairs to reach the ground floor and the apparition point when Robards called out. 

“Potter, take Miss Granger to St Mungo’s immediately. We will follow with Narciss— that is, Mrs Malfoy and Mr Draco Malfoy.” Then Robards turned his attention to the other Aurors in the basement. “Thomas, release Mr Draco Malfoy from the cell and escort him to St Mungo’s. Abercrombie and Berrycloth, secure the prisoners and bring them to the holding facilities. Fungbury, secure the scene—” 

And then Harry was unable to hear more, as he rushed out of the basement to reach the apparition point. The two Aurors guarding the apparition point stepped aside immediately upon seeing him, and within seconds he arrived at St Mungo’s at the emergency entrance reserved for the Aurors. A young healer popped in with a floating stretcher. She asked questions, which Harry did his best to answer while he carefully placed his precious burden on the stretcher, and the healer rushed away with Hermione. 

He tried to follow, but the healer quite firmly told him to remain where he was. As he watched the door close behind them, as Hermione disappeared from view, he felt overwhelming fear for her life. She had looked horrible, broken and hurt. She had looked ghostly pale, and her skin had felt cold to his touch. 

But she was safe now. She would pull through… The healers of St Mungo’s would know what to do; they would ensure she survived. 

And if he just repeated it in his mind often enough, he might even believe it. 

Merlin, there had been so much blood! 

…

Hours later, Harry was pacing in the corridor outside the room where the healers were still fighting to save Hermione. He had tried to get information about how she was doing, but a grim-faced healer had told him to be patient and that they would inform him when they knew more. As no news had floated through the door in hours, he was getting more and more agitated. He had seen three different healers rushing to the room. That had to be a bad sign… And why was it taking so long? Wasn’t magic supposed to be effective? Perhaps the healers here really were incompetent. 

Merlin, she had to recover! If she survived, and she had to, he would never leave her side again. He could not imagine a world where Hermione didn’t live and lived with him. Nothing in his life was as important as her. She truly was everything. 

It was all his fault for allowing this to happen. Why had he agreed to bring her to the Auror Office, when he didn’t know where danger lurked? If he had not been such a terrible Auror, he would have figured this out weeks ago. If he had only spoken to Dean. Why was it he thought he could solve everything by himself? It wasn’t lost on him that if he had given the case to Dean as Robards had suggested or even just asked for help, then they might have figured it out earlier. For someone who prided himself on his effectiveness, it was sobering to realise _he_ had wasted time, risked her life, and generally made a turd of the case. 

He was such a fool, and now it might cost him Hermione.

“Potter,” a masculine voice said, calling his attention. 

The door to Hermione’s room was still closed, no healer had emerged, so who was calling his name? Looking around the corridor, he saw Draco Malfoy standing a few feet away. 

“Malfoy.”

For a while, they just stared at each other. They had never been friends, not at Hogwarts and not after. 

“They released you then?” Harry asked sharply, perhaps with a bit of an accusation in his voice. 

“As you see.” 

No emotion showed on the blond man’s face, but Harry felt an urge to punch him. How was it Malfoy could walk away from the basement on his own two feet, while Hermione was fighting for her life at this very minute? But instead of giving in to his urges, he drew a deep breath and turned away from Malfoy, watching the door to Hermione’s room again. He didn’t have the energy to fight with Malfoy right now. 

“Any news about Hermione?” Malfoy sounded hesitant, and that caused Harry to pause and glance at him again. Malfoy’s impassive mask was gone and the Draco Malfoy, who looked at him now, had a pained expression, almost like he was worried. His forehead was furrowed, his upper eyelids drooped, and his lips were pulled slightly down at the corners. 

Finding himself unexpectedly moved by the evident worry on the other man’s face, Harry didn’t know what to say. For some reason, Hermione was friends with Malfoy, and for that reason alone, Harry would curb his dislike, so he answered, “The healers are still in there. No news so far.”

“Oh.” Malfoy’s eyes fell to the floor, and he slumped into the nearest chair. 

He looked like a man overcome with emotions, and if Harry could read him correctly, there was both anger and fear, and was that… guilt? Now, why would Malfoy be feeling guilty? 

“Do you mind if I wait here for a bit?”

Taken aback by the question, Harry automatically replied, “By all means.” Then because he felt like he had to say something else, he asked, “How is your mother?” Robards had indicated Narcissa Malfoy was not one of the bad guys, and from the scene, Harry had observed in the basement, she had looked very much like a victim. 

“She’s recovering.”

Harry didn’t reply. He didn’t know what had happened, but he assumed Mrs Malfoy recovering was a good thing. So instead, he turned his attention back to the door to Hermione’s room. Why didn’t they know anything yet? Why was it taking so long? He needed to—

“I spoke to her briefly before, but she needed rest, so I had to leave,” Malfoy said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “She was only knocked out by a Stunner, but the healers said she was almost completely drained of her magic and suffering from fatigue. I can’t believe Father kept her locked up and under the Imperius for years. He led me to believe she was dead!” 

Malfoy’s voice was low, but Harry had no trouble hearing him. Honestly, Harry wasn’t really interested in Mrs Malfoy. Why should he even care? 

_That’s not very kind, Harry._ He could practically hear Hermione telling him off, and of course, she was right. Mrs Malfoy had been willing to sacrifice everything for her son during the final battle. What if she had not lied to Voldemort then? Another AK and Harry would have died. 

With a sigh, he turned to look at Malfoy, who sat hunched in the chair. He looked most of all, like a lost little boy. It must have been a terrible shock for him to discover his presumed dead mother alive and his insane father trying to murder his friends. 

Feeling sympathy for the Slytherin, Harry found himself trying to divert his attention by asking, “So you and Cho?”

Malfoy looked up, his eyes narrowed and his voice cold as steel. “If you have anything to say about it, just say it!”

Surprised by the aggressive reply, Harry raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I meant no disrespect. Just wondering how you two ended up married. How come no one knew?”

“Oh, sorry.” Draco visibly deflated. “When we found out she was pregnant, we wanted to get married before the baby arrived. It was just a small affair with our best friends as witnesses. None of us wanted the publicity of a big wedding. I don’t know how my father knew, but he found out almost immediately.”

Not wanting to poke the dragon, but also curious, Harry asked, “Why did your father hate it so much?”

Malfoy hesitated for a long time. “He had different plans for my marriage. I think he mostly hated Cho and what she represented because she was not the wife he chose for me. He didn’t care that I love her.”

“It seems like a lot of effort to go through just because you married someone he didn’t approve of.”

Malfoy snorted. “Did I mention he was insane? Mom tried to leave him years ago, and he kept her locked up under the Imperius! The man was stark raving mad but wealthy enough for his _friends_ to not care.” Malfoy turned his gaze to the floor and didn’t appear to want to say more.

With a shrug, Harry turned his attention to the door again. How much longer?

For a long time neither said anything, but then Malfoy broke the silence. “Why are you here, Potter?” Malfoy looked at him like he was a puzzle he was trying to solve.

“What do you mean?” 

“Why are you here, waiting for news about Hermione? Why are you not with the other Aurors?” Malfoy clarified. Then without waiting for a reply, he added, “You really care for her, don’t you?” 

Frowning, not sure precisely what Malfoy meant, he replied, “Yes.”

“I didn’t believe her when she said it. I thought you were messing with her again.”

Frowning, Harry asked, “What do you mean ‘again’?”

“I was there six years ago,” Malfoy replied with a shrug. “Cho and I had just started dating. Hermione was working in the same office as Cho, and they’d become instant friends. I didn’t know Hermione that well from Hogwarts. She was always just that frustrating Gryffindor, who made better scores than me on every test, and was best friends with that horrid Boy-Who-Lived.” His smile was apologetic as he said the last, and Harry found himself smiling too. “But even I could see something was wrong with her. When Cho finally got it out of her, we were all surprised that you had decided the friendship was over, that she was not good enough to be your friend, and that you’d just left. After everything your _Golden Trio_ had faced, I thought you guys would be friends forever.”

Harry scowled, not having expected _that_ day to be referred to so casually and so wrongly. “But that’s not…” 

Malfoy observed him keenly, and must have noticed his confusion, as he said, “Why don’t you explain what _you_ think happened six years ago?”

Hesitating at the idea of describing the worst day of his life to Draco Malfoy, his nemesis… well, perhaps it was time to stop thinking of Malfoy as his enemy. This was not the Draco Malfoy he remembered from Hogwarts. This Draco Malfoy seemed to have grown up and if Hermione was friends with him, then perhaps he couldn’t be all that bad. 

“Six years ago I realised I was in love with her,” Harry began. He couldn’t look at Draco while he explained, so he kept his eyes on the door to her room. “It wasn’t just a passing feeling, and eventually, I decided it was best to tell her. See if she might feel the same. But as I told her I loved her, she mentioned she and Ron were dating. Those two were always a combustible combination, and a relationship would never work between them. They would need constant counselling. I told her it was stupid and that they would never last. Then she got mad and called me a horrible friend and said that I should just leave her alone. So I did.”

Draco was quiet for so long that Harry didn’t believe he would say anything, but then, “That is not what she said... A girl so heartbroken over your departure could not have been dating Weasley. I can only assume you misunderstood each other.”

Harry swung around to look at Draco, but the other man looked serious. He did not appear to be pulling his leg. Could it really be… a misunderstanding? No, it just couldn’t be. Hermione had clearly said she loved Ron. Hadn’t she? By Merlin, Harry could not remember that day clearly anymore. It was only his pain and hurt that remained. Perhaps because he had nursed it for so long. He had blamed her for his pain, but had he even considered her perspective? But then what— 

The door to Hermione’s room opened, and Harry’s focus immediately flew to the healer, who stood in the doorway. He looked between Harry and Draco but eventually settled his eyes on Harry. “Are you here for Miss Granger?”

Harry stepped towards the healer. “Yes, how is she?”

“Miss Granger was severely injured,” the healer said. “Prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse, deep-level lacerations due to sharp iron splinters causing damage to vital organs and blood veins, invasion of the mind, signs of strangulation—”

“By Merlin, man, is she recovering?” Harry loudly yelled at the healer, who took a step back from the clearly crazed wizard.

Draco quickly stepped around Harry and addressed the healer with his most diplomatic smile. “What my friend here means is whether Miss Granger is awake? Can we see her now?”

The healer glanced at Harry but seemed to want to talk to Draco instead. Stupid, incompetent healer. 

“We’ve treated all of Miss Granger’s injuries, and she is being taken to a recovery room. If you don’t disturb her, you can visit her there. Just keep your friend there under control, or I will have you both removed, so you don’t disturb her recovery.”

“Thank you, Healer,” Draco replied. “And where might we find the recovery room?”

…

Hermione still hadn’t woken up, but her breathing was even. Colour had returned to her face, and she looked better, much better than when she was brought in. Surprisingly Draco was still there. He had popped in and out through the day. Harry assumed he had been to check on his mother, but he hadn’t asked. Though perhaps he no longer viewed Draco Malfoy as an enemy, he was still not ready to consider the Slytherin a friend, but he could respect his loyalty to Hermione. That reminded him that he still had to find Cho and inform her about all that had happened over the last many weeks. She was, after all, still Hermione’s emergency contact. 

Turning to Draco, he said, “I’ve been trying to locate Cho for the past many weeks.”

With an impassive expression, Draco just asked, “Why?”

“She’s Hermione’s emergency contact, and it is my duty to inform her of everything that had happened.”

“Alright,” was Draco’s only response. 

Apparently, Harry was not clear enough about what he wanted, so he elaborated, “Will you tell me how to reach her?” When Draco didn’t reply, Harry continued, “I’ve been unable to locate her at all. How were you able to hide her so well?”

Draco sighed deeply. “She’s no longer Cho Chang but Cho Malfoy.”

Surprised Harry countered, “It can’t be that simple. Surely, there’s more to it than that.” Of course, he knew now they were married, but it couldn’t be just a _simple_ name change that hid her.

“Of course, she is also untraceable and in a Secret-Kept location that she is the Secret Keeper of,” Draco replied. “Once I realised my father objected so vehemently to our marriage, I made sure to protect her as best I could, and I knew I could not be the Secret Keeper, I was the obvious choice. Hermione was the one who suggested Cho being her own Secret Keeper, but that of course came with other problems.”

“How so?” Harry asked, surprised. 

“The Fidelius protects Cho when she is there, but if she leaves the location, the Fidelius will fall. She had a few Portkeys keyed to the location and had shared the location with me, Hermione and Blaise so we could go there, but none of us could share the information. She is as safe as she can be. House-elves, owls, wizards; no one should be able to find her, but of course, she also can’t leave.”

“That’s impressive safety measures, but what I don’t understand is if you knew your father objected to Cho and your marriage, then why didn’t you just stay hidden with her?” Harry asked. “It would have provided safety for both of you.”

With a wry smile, Draco said, “It was stupid, but I wanted to convince my father that he was wrong. That Cho was the best thing that happened to me.”

“Showing some latent Gryffindor tendencies, were you?” 

“And just see where that got me,” Draco laughed. 

The absurdity of Draco Malfoy as a Gryffindor had them both laughing, and then Harry remembered the Hat suggesting Slytherin for him. Oh, what a strange idea of Harry in Slytherin and Draco in Gryffindor, but perhaps the idea was not quite that bizarre. Draco had shown Gryffindor tendencies when they were at school too, and was it not true that Harry himself had shown some Slytherin tendencies? Perhaps the two of them were more similar than first assumed. 

“You are not as horrid as I remembered, Malfoy.”

“I could say the same, Potter.”

A loud snort called their attention to the bed, where a wide-awake Hermione was observing them with amusement. 

“Hermione! How are you feeling?” Harry asked, leaning slightly over her and taking her hand in his.

“Finally awake,” Draco grinned. “Took you long enough.”

“I feel surprisingly fine,” she admitted to Harry. “Not even a headache.” Then she turned to Draco with a frown. “Hey you, shouldn’t you be at Cho’s making amends for disappearing?”

“I was there earlier to explain everything… Told me I had to make sure you were fine before I came back. She yelled at me for about half an hour.”

“You probably deserved it.” At his surprised look, she added, “You had us all worried sick when you disappeared like that. Blaise and I even went to the Aurors to ask for help.”

“I am so sorry,” he replied, “for everything that happened. If it wasn’t for me neither your nor Blaise...” his voice broke as he mentioned his friend’s name. 

“Hey.” With only a little help from Harry, she sat up in the bed to be eye level with Draco. “It was not your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t—”

“Stop it!” she admonished. “It was your father’s fault.”

Draco remained silent after that, still not convinced. And at that moment Harry felt a new kinship with the Slytherin. After all these years, Harry still blamed himself for Sirius’ death though Hermione had at the time tried to convince him it was not his fault. He had now forgiven himself, but there were still days when the guilt came crashing back. No longer the overwhelming and crushing feeling that it had been, it was a burden he would carry for the rest of his life. But now he was able to think of Sirius and remember the good time they’d shared. 

Instinctively, he knew that Draco would blame himself for years for Zabini’s death and the danger to Hermione. It was what Harry would do, and they really were not all that different. 

“Guilt is a terrible emotion,” he said, looking at Draco. “You risk that it will tear you apart and make you push your loved ones away. If you keep blaming yourself, you will never move on. It will take time, but you have to learn to forgive yourself. The best you can do is talk about what happened and why you feel so guilty.” As the words left his mouth, Harry realised that he had to deal with his own guilt too. He felt guilty for what happened to Hermione because of his inability to solve the case.

“No one could possibly understand,” Draco said dismissively. “And even so, no one would help me. I am still a Malfoy, feared for our contributions to the war.”

“I would understand,” Harry replied seriously. Draco Malfoy was not his enemy any more. He was a man struggling with the same issues that Harry was now and had previously struggled with. It was possible to move on from that guilt. “You can talk to me.”

Shocked by the offer, Draco seemed lost for words. “I… Thank you.”

He knew helping Draco was the right thing to do. They were not enemies any more, but supposedly adults, mature enough to put their bitter school rivalry behind them. 

Hermione, who had remained silent while Harry spoke, squeezed his hand in understanding and support, and the small gesture warmed his heart. 

…

Draco left shortly after to check on his mother before returning to Cho. Once they were alone, Hermione turned to Harry with a determined look. “We should talk now.”

As there were many things they should discuss, he agreed, but he didn’t know what exactly she wanted to talk about first. 

“I remember,” she informed him. She was staring at him, intently. “All my memories are back, and I’ve been trying to figure out why you lied to me. That day in the hospital you said we were friends, but I now know that’s not true.” 

Her voice sounded confused, not accusing, but he still felt guilty about that lie. It was time to come clean and lay all his cards on the table. “I didn’t mean to lie about that, but when I discovered you were hurt and in a coma, I wanted to help you. I was so miserable and so full of regret for all the years we’d spent apart. I wanted us to be friends again, and when you couldn’t remember otherwise, I decided to go with my fantasy. I wanted to help you, but I couldn’t very well do that if you didn’t trust me.”

For a long time, she was quiet and just looked at him. From her expression, he couldn’t determine what she was thinking, so he waited. 

“Okay,” she finally said, but was that an ‘okay, I accept your explanation’ or an ‘okay, I made up my mind, and I now hate you’? He really hoped it wasn’t the latter, but if it were, then he would spend the rest of his life trying to get her to forgive him. 

“I believe you, but I still don’t understand why you left in the first place if us not being friends affected you so much. Need I remind you that you were the one who left, you ended our friendship?”

It was time to admit everything. If Draco was right and their separation was due to one giant misunderstanding, then it had to be cleared up. 

“Do you remember the last time we spoke?” he asked.

She nodded. “We were sitting on the grass outside of Hogwarts shortly after the war ended.”

“Yes, exactly. It has come to my attention that we might disagree on what was said that day. Would you mind explaining what you remember from that day?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, clearly not believing it would change anything, she still complied with his request. “I remember sharing the news that I had just gotten the position in the Spirit Division. Then you said something about us not being able to remain friends, which pissed me off. I think I brought up Ron and whether or not you still considered him your friend. Then I clearly remember you calling me stupid for still being friends with Ron, and I got really angry with you for dismissing us so easily after everything we’ve been through. I think I yelled something about you being a horrible friend or something like that.”

“See, that is not what I remember,” Harry said gently. “What I recall was me telling you that I had fallen in love with you. Then you brought up Ron and how dear he was to you. How wonderful he was, how great he was. I was jealous that you were in love with him. Then I told you how bad a relationship between the two of you would be. You would murder each other within weeks. Of course, it wasn’t my place to speak, I know that, but I couldn’t hold it back. Then you defended Ron and got angry at me. Eventually telling me, I should stay away from you.” 

Once he stopped speaking, it was quiet in the room. Hermione didn’t respond, just looked at him with her mouth slightly open and a shocked expression on her face. 

“But…” And then she didn’t say more just burst into tears. 

“Don’t cry!” he whispered, tortured by her tears. It was all his fault and selfish as he was, he had blamed her. Self-loathing and shame poured through him. Swiftly, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, as he held her while she cried. He held her pressed against his chest, her tears soaking his shirt. ”Please, don’t cry. I’m so sorry.” 

He cupped her face between his hand, tipping it up and gazing into her eyes. His thumbs wiping the tears falling from her eyes. “It is entirely my fault,” he told her. His voice a ravaged whisper as he explained. “I thought it was what you wanted. I thought you were going to marry Ron.” 

She muttered something, which sounded very much like, “You arse!” And then in a louder voice, she said, “You do realise Ron and Lavender had just gotten back together at that time. There never was anything serious between Ron and me. We were friends. We still are though we don’t see each other more than a few times a year these days.”

Harry felt exceptionally stupid for not knowing that. He had cut all ties back then and had no idea how any of the Weasleys were doing now. He should probably seek Ron out and apologise for leaving. But before he did anything else, he had something important to say to Hermione. 

“I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings this time,” he said. “Hermione Granger, I am in love with you. These past few weeks being with you have been the best of my life even though I was living in constant fear for your life!”

She moved slightly, her eyes searching his. Her bright eyes showed a mixture of confusion and longing, but her answer was clear and made his chest ache. 

“You idiot!”

She didn’t want him. Of course, it was stupid of him to think he could so easily convince her of his love, but he would not give up. She was too important—

“I love you too,” she muttered, crossing her arms in front of her and glaring at him. “But I don’t know if I want to kiss you or punch you right now. Probably a bit of both.” 

Her words pierced his heart and gave him hope. Perhaps the battle was not as formidable as he had imagined. “Then may I suggest you punch me first and then kiss me to make it better?” he teased softly, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

Just as he hoped, her instinctive response to his teasing was to punch him lightly in the arm as she continued to glare at him. Lifting his eyes from where she had punched him to her eyes, he grinned. “I’ll accept that kiss now then.”

She gave him a puzzled smile.

“You did just punch me.” 

A smile flashed across her face as she shook her head. After a moment, she said, “I suppose your suggestion has some merit.”

“Which suggestion was that? The one where I suggested you’d marry me?” He knew he was pushing his luck, but knowing she loved him even after all of his mistakes made him feel like the luckiest man alive, so he had to try.

Started by his words, she drew back to look at him. Searching his eyes for something. “Is that your idea of a proposal?” She sounded doubtful.

He grinned at her state of shock, and though he tried to sound teasing, his voice was sombre when he said, “If I say yes, will you do the same?”

She gave him a sceptical glance, but her eyes quickly crinkled at the corners, and he realised she was laughing at him. 

“But of course you are teasing. You couldn’t possibly expect me to answer such a serious question when I’ve barely recovered, so I shall wait to answer.”

“Impertinent woman,” he said in amusement. “I love you.”

Then he leaned in and kissed her with all the love in his heart, and she kissed him back with the same passion.


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we reached the end. It feels very strange to be here :D 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, liking and commenting.  
> It's been great to read your ideas of what is going on, and I hope you enjoyed the story with the twists and turns that happened along the way. 
> 
> I hope this chapter answers the final loose ends, but if you have any questions you are, of course, very welcome to ask.

The name-giving ceremony of Blaise Hyperion Malfoy, the son of Cho and Draco Malfoy was a big success. The only mar on the party was that the person young Blaise was named after could not be there. The joyful event brought people together to celebrate, and it served as an introduction of Cho Malfoy to the wizarding world. Once the news of Lucius Malfoy’s actions hit the Daily Prophet, and he had been shipped off to Azkaban, serving a life sentence, the Malfoys had been in the centre of too much publicity. This party served to deflect some of that focus from Lucius’ crimes and spin a happier story. A story of new beginnings. 

Along with Malfoy, Finnigan had also been shipped to Azkaban. During his trial, he had admitted his guilt and explained his actions. Even with the explanation of why he had done it, Harry could never forgive him. The man had admitted to seeking out Hermione’s Head of Office to gain information about her, and when Mr Thurkell had not supplied any useful information, Finnigan had instead sent an owl to Hermione pretending to be Zabini, claiming there were news about Draco’s disappearance and needing her help, but with the sole purpose of luring her out so he could learn what she knew about Cho and her whereabouts, then kill her and make it look like another suicide! Fucking bastard! The attack had been deliberately planned and ruthlessly carried out. The fact that Finnigan had underestimated Hermione meant she could get away, but it was the van hitting her that saved her life! All those Muggles surrounding her had forced him to back off. 

If Finnigan weren’t out of reach in Azkaban, then Harry would’ve killed him himself. Harry had considered whether it was worth it to try and break into Azkaban just to kill him, but Hermione had firmly told him to let his hatred go, and since she was the clever one he had tried to listen to her. But if Finnigan or Malfoy ever escaped from Azkaban, then Harry would hunt them down personally.

Even now, months later, his blood still boiled in rage at the memory of seeing Finnigan in Courtroom Ten calmly admitting his actions as if it was his only option for helping his mother! The bastard had had other options. Robards would have allowed him overtime if consulted, and the Aurors would all have chipped in to help him. Honestly, Harry would probably have given him the money if asked, but he hadn’t been asked. Finnigan had decided to face the obstacles alone, and he had turned to the worst possible man for help. The Aurors were a family, and it had been devastating to discover one in their midst had decided not to trust them and instead turn against them. 

Harry was embarrassed to remember that he, too, had forgotten the bond the Aurors shared. He had been so focussed on his own career that he didn’t wish to work with the other Aurors. If only he had spoken to Dean earlier, instead of trying to avoid him, then this case could have been solved weeks earlier. Hermione wouldn’t have had to face her assailant twice more. All these months later, it still bothered Harry, but then he imagined what could have happened had he turned to Finnigan for help… There was no doubt Finnigan would have found a way to murder Hermione, but then again she _had_ managed to survive three encounters with him, so maybe all would not have been lost.

With a shake of his head, he pushed the unpleasant thoughts of the what-ifs and his own inadequacies out of his mind and looked around the gardens at the Malfoy Cottage in Scotland. It had been decorated extensively in baby blue colours. It was exaggerated and extreme, but it added an air of cheerfulness. Harry, who had been cynical about the whole affair - who held an outdoor celebration in winter anyway even with magic to keep the guests warm - found himself smiling and enjoying himself as he watched the ceremony. He had been invited not as Hermione’s plus one, but on his own merit. Surprisingly he and Draco had reached a state of if not precisely friendship, then at least something close to it. Draco had taken him up on the offer of talking about his guilt, and it seemed to do him good. The haunted look that had been in his eyes had dulled. He still had moments of overwhelming guilt, but they were further apart, and with Cho’s love and the support from his friends, Harry was certain Draco would be able to pull through. The fact that Cho had married Draco still puzzled Harry, but after having met them both and seeing how much in love they were, he was entirely on board. 

If Draco had wondered how his mother would welcome his wife, he had not needed to worry. Narcissa had taken one look at her daughter-in-law and the joy she brought to Draco’s life and immediately was a firm supporter. And when Cho delivered her a grandson, Narcissa felt certain Cho could do no wrong. 

Surprisingly Robards was also at the ceremony, as he sat with Narcissa Malfoy. They had their heads close together and laughed freely. But it wasn’t until Harry accidentally stumbled upon a private moment between them, where Robards placed a kiss on her cheek, that Harry finally realised what was happening. He grinned at the idea that Robards might not be so eager in the future to be working Sundays. Perhaps Robards might even stop being the first person in the Office and the last person to leave. 

Had he cornered his Head and asked why Robards had been so fixated on the Narcissa Malfoy case? Of course, he had, and he was still surprised to learn that Robards and Mrs Malfoy had been Hogwarts sweethearts before she ended up marrying Lucius Malfoy. Realising Robards had also been emotionally compromised by a case made Harry respect his Head even more. Emotions could always overrule the mind and knowing it could happen to any of them, made Harry feel better about himself. It seemed the important part was how one dealt with it. Robards had asked Dean and Harry for help on the Narcissa Malfoy case, while Harry had ignored all suggestions for help. Of course, considering the traitor in the Auror Office, Harry could not really blame himself. But he did wonder if he was even in the right career. He enjoyed working as an Auror, but he no longer felt the calling that had drawn him to the position in the first place. He hadn’t discussed it with Hermione yet, but perhaps it was time to quit his job as an Auror and find something else to do.

As the godmother, Hermione stood with the proud parents, holding young Blaise, smiling and cooing at him. Seeing her with the child caused a strange feeling to settle in his chest, and he couldn’t help wonder how Hermione would be as a mother. She would be amazing, he knew it, and suddenly he hoped for a future with little Hermiones running around, being clever. 

By Merlin, he loved her so much. Sometimes she drove him crazy when she didn’t listen to him or when she put herself at risk. Like with the Portkey. The fact that she’d never used it even when she was in multiple deadly situations still bothered him. Instead of fighting, she should have gotten the hell out of there as soon as she could, but the Portkey never even entered her mind and instead, her instinctive response was to fight. He didn’t think she’d ever _not_ do that. Luckily there hadn’t been other crazy wizards out to kill her, so she’d eventually returned the Portkey with an apologetic smile. He disassembled the spell and kept the ring with him, waiting for the opportunity to give it to her again.

For a brief moment, he had considered looking at the memory of _that_ day in a Pensieve, but he had quickly dismissed the idea. It didn’t matter who was wrong or right about a misunderstanding, but what did matter was that Harry had left back then. He had caused the separation. Not her. Considering how important Hermione had been during the war in keeping him alive and sane, the fact that his biggest mistake was leaving her kind of felt fitting as if he needed her in his life because once he made decisions on his own he fucked up. At least that was how he saw it, so he considered himself really lucky that she had forgiven his mistakes, past and present. With her by his side life was good. _Very_ good.

As he watched her now, Hermione gave the child back to his mother with laughter. How he loved seeing her laugh so freely again. She looked around the gathering, and when her eyes settled on him, her expression brightened, and she walked over. Merlin, she was beautiful. She took the chair next to him and leaned into his embrace. 

“Why are you sitting back here, brooding?” she asked, as she gently drew her fingers over his creased forehead.

“I was thinking of all that happened over the last months.” He placed a soft kiss on her lips, which she returned. 

“And that has you looking like you ate something vile? Should I take offence since you spent most of that time with me?” 

Her tone was light, teasing, and he found himself smiling at her. He’d done that a lot over the past months too. Just smiling at her and enjoying being with her. She didn’t need a hero to save her. She was capable of saving herself. But amazingly, she had decided that though she didn’t need Harry to save her, she did want him in her life. 

“You met with Ron this morning?” she asked. She had left early in the morning to help Cho and Draco with little Blaise and the last few preparations for the party while Harry had finally met up with Ron. 

“Yes, we met at the Leaky Cauldron. He was surprisingly understanding and forgiving. He invited us over to meet Lavender and the kids next weekend.”

She smiled at that. “Good! See, I told you Ron was a better friend than you gave him credit for.”

“I bow to your greater knowledge.” He grinned.

For a while, they just sat together, side by side with her leaning her head on his shoulder, and enjoying the festivities, but then Harry recalled a certain idea he had had, and he looked at her again. “Sweetheart?”

She turned her eyes to him with a slight smile, looking expectantly at him, and waited for him to continue.

“I had a thought when I saw you with little Blaise. What do you think about children of our own?”

Strangely, she averted her gaze and sat up straight, looking slightly guilty with a faint blush to her cheeks. “I think that is a lovely idea,” she murmured, before raising her eyes to his. Was that uncertainty lurking there? “How does in seven and a half months sound?”

For a moment, her words didn’t make sense to him, but when they did, he almost froze. “Are you…?” 

She nodded. “I had it confirmed today.” 

She looked nervous as she admitted it, but why should she be worried? It was the best news he had heard in a long time. He was quite certain he couldn’t hide the big, silly grin on his face. He slid his arms around her torso, and she let him drag her closer until her back rested against his chest. 

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “Now you have to marry me, you know? No more avoiding the question.”

“Did you ever properly ask, I wonder. Does it really count when you wake me up in the middle of the night just to tell me that I should marry you or when you try to bribe me with books?” she asked, her voice husky though she pretended not to be affected by their close proximity. 

“Ahh, I see. So if I actually _ask_ you, you will say yes?”

“Maybe,” she grinned, her entire face lit up in amusement.

“Hermione Granger, love of my life, will you marry me?” he asked while brushing her hair aside and gently kissing the nape of her neck, her skin warm and soft and so enticing. Smiling to himself when her breath caught, he kissed a path along her neck. He would never grow tired of kissing her or how amazingly responsive she was to him. But he had to stick to just very light kisses as he couldn’t afford to distract her too much yet. She still needed to answer. 

“Yes.” It came out more of a moan than a proper word, but it was the sweetest sound in the world. 

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring. It wasn’t a fancy ring, but it was the one he had given her earlier as a Portkey. As she saw the ring, her eyes lit up. She recognised it too. 

“Have you been holding on to that ever since...?”

“I was waiting for an opportunity to give it back to you,” he replied as he slipped it on her finger. 

“Oh, Harry.” She looked at the ring and then back at him. Before he even realised what she was about, she threw herself at him, almost knocking his chair back, but he managed to catch her and still keep the chair from falling over. And then her arms went around his neck, and she was kissing him passionately. With a groan, his arms snaked around her body, pulling her closer. 

When she eventually pulled back, they were both out of breath, panting hard. 

“Think we could slip away without anyone noticing?” he whispered. 

“Early start to the honeymoon?” She sounded amused. She shifted slightly in his lap, bringing herself into contact with the bulge in his pants. A bulge that was rapidly swelling and hardening as she moved in his lap. He couldn’t help the hiss that escaped his lips. “I really should refuse and force you to remain here for a few hours more…”

“You are not that cruel.” And then he kissed her neck, trailing a path of kissing down the column. 

“I am not,” she agreed, almost purring. 

He grinned, before rising to his feet, bringing her with him, holding her securely in his arms as they apparated home. “I never imagined my life could ever be this… this…” He struggled to find the right word to describe everything she meant to him. “Perfect. My life is pretty damn perfect, and it’s all because of you.”


End file.
